


The Morning AUs - A Compilation

by scribbleb_red



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Drabble Collection, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I mean they're still there, M/M, Magic, previously found on twitter, redscribbleb, the morning AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 55
Words: 119,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21899818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribbleb_red/pseuds/scribbleb_red
Summary: Your wish is my command. Here are the "Morning AUs" compiled into one space.Come and discover a load of Andreil AUs with coffee shop, magic, ghosts and demons, Neil as a witch and Andrew as a bodyguard, or maybe a half vampire. There's angst and fluff and plenty of domestic happy, there's post-canon and emo music and honestly hopefully there's one you'll like.ENJOY!
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Kevin Day/Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 776
Kudos: 930





	1. Hello Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> These are free-written stories and drabbles, usually written every morning on Twitter in one (or two or three) long threads. They are all predominantly "Andreil" focused but sometimes a smidge of other pairings for other characters creeps in (usually these are Renee/Allison and Kev/Jere/Jean). If you have a prompt or want to see an AU written up on twitter, send in your suggestions! I love a challenge. 
> 
> Titles / Headlines will be used to hint at what each AU is so feel free to peruse - it's not like they're in order!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weird things have started happening in Andrew's new house in Baltimore. Is there a ghost in his new house? Could it be to do with the old owners? What mysteries lurk between the walls? And who is Nathaniel Wesninski?

After college, the Minyard-Hemmicks sell up in South Carolina and Andrew is signed by the Baltimore Bombers.

He buys a house on the outskirts of Leakin Park, it’s pretty grand but he has a vision of inviting his family to stay, one day, perhaps.

The house is also more than a bit run down (which is why Andrew figures it was a good price). 

He starts to fix the place up. New paint. New floors. New windows. 

But then weird stuff starts happening. 

Food he was sure was in the fridge disappears. Stationary and paints will vanish from almost under his nose. Tools go missing only to reappear somewhere else. And clothes too (he is sure he brought his favourite black hoodie with him from SC, and Aaron swears he hasn’t got it…). 

He starts to hear noises - not loud, just like shuffling, sliding, sometimes like a door is creaking open.

Andrew has nearly done the ground floor when he thinks he’s found the answer - navy paint paw prints - all across his freshly stripped and varnished wood floor. 

He won’t lie, they’re kind of cute. The creature must have knocked over the feature-wall paint.

But then, one day after practice, he comes home and takes off his headphones and he’s sure he can hear humming. Whatever animal the pawprints came from, he’s sure most of them won’t know Bohemian Rhapsody.

He creeps up the stairs, it’s pretty tatty up here still. The only room he’s really bothered is his own. There are rooms he’s barely opened since he arrived - particularly the one that looks like it once belonged to a kid (the yellow clown wallpaper *has* to come down soon).

The humming is coming from the main bathroom. 

His hand hovers over the handle. 

He presses down. 

The door swings open. 

He swears he sees a flash of red. Blue eyes in the mirror. 

But when he pushes inside, nothing and no one is there. 

“The actual fuck??” he mutters.

The actual fuck is right. 

Over the next few weeks Andrew becomes increasingly paranoid. Summer has bled into autumn and he is pretty sure he’s being haunted. 

There is a ghost in this house. There is a ghost in these walls.

He talks to Aaron who just shrugs and tells him to call an exterminator if he has rats in the walls. Andrew is sure there aren’t rats in the walls. That’s not what he’s hearing. Rats don’t have nice tenor voices that hum Queen and Blue Oyster Cult through the piping. 

He talks to Nicky, who freaks out because _omg Andrew you have to get out before the ghosts turn violent Andrew, you don’t know what kind of ghost it is Andrew, what if you piss it off by accident Andrew. Maybe you can get an exorcist Andrew. Or salt? Isn’t salt bad for ghosts?_

He calls Kevin, who frowns down the line. 

“Are you okay, Minyard? Not getting rattled now you’re in the pros?" 

No, Andrew is not rattled. He’s doing fucking great for the Bombers. 

"Then get some sleep and… maybe call Bee?”

Great so Kevin thinks he’s mad.

He calls the estate agent last. Though really he should have called them first.

“There’s something wrong with this house,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong with this house." 

"Oh dear.” The estate agent is _very_ anxious. “I’m so sorry, Mr Minyard. I thought everyone knew.”

Turns out everyone except him did know. Andrew’s grand house that he got for basically pennies was once the home of the Butcher of Baltimore. Andrew missed the memo though, too busy getting his brother clean and surviving the mood-meddling, court-prescribed drugs at the time.

“I’m so very sorry,” says the estate agent. “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do now, but I do know a good geomancer who could feng shui the property for you." 

Andrew slams down the phone. 

So he has a ghost in his house. 

Probably a murder ghost too. 

_Fuck_.

He decides that if he’s going to get rid of his ghost, he’s going to have to figure out what exactly the ghost is taking, when and why. He starts keeping track in a little notebook. He quickly notices something even weirder than the missing stuff though.

  1. The ghost takes food - not a huge amount - but enough each week. It’s mostly fruit and vege, the occasional protein bar. If Andrew makes smoothies from fruit, the ghost will take some. And sometimes the ghost will make smoothies itself and leave half for Andrew.
  2. The ghost launders any of the clothes it borrows. Not everything is returned. But socks will miraculously reappear. So will tshirts and sometimes jumpers. The black hoodie has not made a reappearance. But his woollen winter jumper does, with the elbow holes freshly darned.
  3. The ghost showers. Andrew has noticed more than once that the bathroom mirror is misted and the towels damp when they shouldn’t be.
  4. The ghost leaves red hair behind, long curls of it.
  5. The ghost is probably not a ghost. Or if they are, they’re a very very corporeal one.



He decides maybe - just maybe - he could lure the ghost out. 

After a shower one day, he writes on the misted mirror: HELLO GHOST. 

The next day, the ghost leaves a reply: HI HUMAN. 

Andrew frowns and scrubs the note away.

He goes out to buy clothes for the ghost - no need for them to nick his favourite stuff if they have their own right? 

He leaves the bag in the bathroom and writes: THE BAG IS FOR YOU. 

The next day he sees: THANK U. 

The day after: CAN I HV A TOOTHBRUSH? 

Andrew buys one, even though the ghost writes like a fuckboi.

When he comes home from a long weekend of away matches, the toothbrush is used and wet. There’s a Smiley on the mirror in the the mist. Andrew scowls. And he realises the ghost is near - because there’s a shuffle, a sigh & for a second he’s sure the shadows behind him move.

Andrew and the Ghost fall into a rhythm. 

Sometimes when the ghost needs something there will be a note on the bathroom mirror. Sometimes when the ghost is thankful, they’ll leave homecooked left overs in the fridge for Andrew, presumably made when he’s at practice.

Aaron asks him one day if he solved his rat problem. 

"It’s a ghost problem,” Andrew tells him. “But yes, something like that.”

For Christmas, Andrew goes to visit Nicky and Erik in Germany. 

It’s three weeks away and he’s so anxious about the flights, he forgets about his little ghost in the walls. 

He packs in a hurry. He turns off the lights. Turns down the heating. Locks the doors.

The holiday itself is good. Nicky is thriving now he’s back with his boyfriend and Andrew almost feels bad that he kept Nicky from being this happy for so many years. _Almost_. Because he wouldn’t trade those years with Nicky and Aaron for anything. 

He goes home, content.

As soon as he opens the front door, he knows something is wrong. 

It’s freezing cold. So cold his breath is vapours on the air. 

There’s a smell too, stale and fetid. Like old fruit. 

And that’s when he sees him, the ghost.

The ghost is a boy, but he certainly looks half dead. 

He’s sprawled on Andrew’s new sofa. He’s all bones. Emaciated to a point where he looks childish. His skin is sickly pale. His hair is dank and plastered to his forehead. His eyes are closed.

Andrew drops his bag and the ghost’s eyes flutter open, just a slither before closing again. 

The ghost is sick. Incredibly sick.

Andrew calls Aaron. 

“My ghost is sick,” is the first thing he says. “He has a fever. I don’t know what’s wrong with him." 

Aaron doesn’t pretend to understand, he just lists off ways to bring down a fever. "I can be there in the morning,” he tells Andrew. “Just –”

– Aaron stops short. He can’t tell Andrew to keep a ghost alive can he? 

Andrew does what he can. He lifts his ghost up into his arms, wrinkling his nose at the sweaty, sick smell rolling off him. He’s far too light and far too small.

Andrew tucks him into his own bed.

He finds a can of fizzy lemonade and brings it upstairs to the ghost. He’s barely stirred but as Andrew cracks open the can, the ghost lets out the tiniest of whimpers and it breaks Andrew’s heart.

Carefully, he nudges the ghost awake and helps him to drink some of the lemonade. 

“Bring up his sugar levels. Make sure he has plenty of fluids. Anything cold to bring down his temperature." 

It takes nearly an hour for the ghost to drink the lemonade.

Andrew doesn’t sleep that night. Doesn’t stop applying cold flannels. Checks his temperature every 30 minutes. 

"You better not become a real ghost, Ghost,” he warns the boy in his bed. “I want my fucking hoodie back.”

Aaron arrives and it’s a good thing he’s just finished his rotation in the ER because Andrew’s ghost is a young man with one of the worst cases of pnuemonia he’s seen in a while. He calls up a professor and explains why he needs a prescription for a variety of medications.

He’s able to get them within the morning and they set Andrew’s room up to be a hospital bed minus the bleepity-bloopety machines. 

Andrew finally sleeps when Aaron forces him to - but only for a couple hours before he’s back at the ghost’s side. 

_Two days go by._

Ghost wakes up. 

For all that he looks like he hasn’t eaten a full meal in his life, his eyes are the most striking Andrew has ever seen in his life. They are coldest blue, like a winter’s sky. 

“Hello Ghost,” Andrew says. 

“Hi Human,” replies the ghost.

Ghost recovers slowly. He sleeps a lot. Andrew cooks for him. Makes him eat soups and broths and slowly reintroduces solids. 

Turns out when Andrew left, he’d locked Ghost inside with only enough food in the cupboards for a week. 

Ghost managed to make it last 12 days.

But with the heating off, Ghost had shivered his way into sickness. 

Andrew asks him how the hell he’s been haunting his house when he’s clearly not a ghost. Ghost frowns. 

“The walls,” he says. “He built the walls too thick so they could hide escape routes." 

"The Butcher?”

Ghost nods. He’s so pale. Andrew presses because he knows there’s a secret here and Ghost finally admits: “He was my father." 

The pieces fall into place as Ghost recovers. His name is actually Nathaniel but every time Andrew uses it, Ghost flinches.

Andrew moves Ghost out of the walls where he used to hide and into the house. 

"Why didn’t you leave after your father died?” Andrew asks one day over hot chocolate and coffee. 

They’re curled up on the sofa, their feet overlapping but nothing else.

“Because he didn’t die,” Ghost says. “He was killed." 

And out comes the story of how Ghost lived in the house as his father’s prisoner. How he was trapped and how he was punished the few times he tried to escape. 

There are scars, Andrew has seen them. They make sense now.

"My mother escaped though. With millions that belonged to my father. A couple years ago my father killed her… my uncle came in retribution. He killed my father. I was there." Ghost’s voice is thick and raw. His eyes won’t meet Andrew’s. "He said he’d come back for me.”

“He never came back,” Andrew fills in the next line. 

“No." 

"But you stayed." 

"I’ve barely been outside before. I never… I had rations stored and I figured, it was safe here at least, now he was gone." 

"And then I arrived." 

"Yeah. And it was kinda nice. Being your ghost.”

Andrew chest feels warm and full. “You’re still my ghost,” he says after a minute. 

And it’s true. This boy from the walls is going to haunt Andrew forever - and he doesn’t even mind.

Andrew learnt to live in increments, one breath at a time, one minute, one hour, one day. He’ll teach Ghost to do the same, over years. 

They’ll find a human name for Ghost. They’ll settle on “Neil”, a name untainted by the father who hurt him or the mother who left him.

They’ll cook together in the evenings, brushing against each other in whispers.

They’ll fall asleep together on sofas and then, later, in their shared bed. 

They’ll move house together one day, when Andrew transfers to another team. 

One day Andrew is lying in bed next to Neil, tracing patterns over freckled skin and taut muscles. 

“I meant to ask, what was with the pawprints that time? With the paint on the floor?" 

And Neil looks puzzled, then smiles. "Maybe it really was a ghost.”

**-THE END-**


	2. The Scars - (Sculptor Neil x Muse Andrew AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Three years ago Neil (a reclusive but renown sculptor) met Andrew (a nobody going nowhere). Andrew had found Neil’s cat, hiding under his car. Neil took a liking to Andrew. Andrew could see Neil was full of secrets, but the snark and the intrigue kept him coming back." 
> 
> And then he finds out what Neil is doing and Andrew leaves. This is the story of their reunion.

Three years ago Neil (a reclusive but renown sculptor) met Andrew (a nobody going nowhere). 

Andrew had found Neil’s cat, hiding under his car. Neil took a liking to Andrew. 

Andrew could see Neil was full of secrets, but the snark and the intrigue kept him coming back.

But a pestering journalist from Galatea magazine (ie. the plucky bitch that is Allison Reynolds) managed to track down Neil (known mostly as N) and from surveilling them, deduce that Andrew is N’s latest muse for his upcoming show. 

Andrew, who knew nothing of Neil’s work, feels used.

He feels used and shattered and like the tentative *something* he thought he was forming with Neil was all a lie, all for some stupid rocks turned into stupider shapes. 

He packs up his life, as he has over a dozen times before, and disappears. 

No goodbyes. No explanations.

He doesn’t need more lies from Neil Josten.

N’s much anticipated show never happens. 

In a single, rare interview, he announces his retirement from the art world. 

It’s cost him too much, he says. 

Andrew feels a thrill in his chest; it’s all spite. 

*

**Three years go by.  
**

Andrew is living in New York, working in an auction house. 

He only took the job because of Renee, who needed someone to come in and help urgently. 

He’s on his second week when it’s announced that they’ll be auctioning off a private collection called “The Scars”. 

It’s by N.

As an artist N has always been recognised for his subject matter, for confronting the worst of the human condition by pushing the boundaries of material and media. “The Scars” is a selection of his earliest pieces - they’re grotesque, alien - and Andrew recognises the subject matter, the inspiration behind them.

There’s the puckering iron brand from Neil’s shoulder. 

The pebble smooth bullet wound. 

The lacerations over his stomach where a road tried to shred his skin. 

A fractured monstrous child. 

Andrew hates them. Hates their rawness. Hates their truth.

“Rumour is, he’ll be here tonight,” Renee tells him as they prep the room.

Andrew raises an eyebrow. 

"N,“ Renee explains. "No one knows who he is, of course, but apparently he’s been trying to buy back his work. Allison’s column speculated that he’d be here for the show.”

“So a whole lot of fans are going to turn up?" 

"Sorry to make your life difficult.” Andrew shrugs. She’s thinking of the extra work he’ll have on the door. He never told her about the months spent with Neil, the summer nights, the autumn walks, the winter his heart froze over.

The crowd arrives. 

Allison is amongst them: eyes sharp, heels sharper. 

Matt Boyd comes next with Dan Wilds, known for her strategy on bids. 

Kevin Day stalks through, ear piece in, determination setting his jaw. 

Andrew does not see N.

Andrew’s not looking for him, by the way, of course not. 

Andrew wants nothing to do with N. Nothing to do with his scars or his smiles, his secrets or his promises. 

He’s not scanning the crowd, looking for a shock of red hair. He’s not hyperaware of every flash of blue.

And that’s when the bidding starts. The first sculpture is “Mother’s Ruin”. On one-side it’s bullet-smooth, a puckered dot; on the other a female shape pulls through, raging, screaming, mouth deadlier than the wound. 

Kevin starts the bid. Dan follows. Back and forth they go.

When Kevin taps out, eyes hard as the stone from which the sculpture is cut, Dan releases a vicious and victorious smile. 

Which is when a new bidder enters the arena. Dark hair. Dark scarf. Dark cane across his knees. A familiar set to his shoulders. 

N.

But no. It isn’t N. It can’t be.

But it isn’t Neil either. 

Or if it is, it’s like seeing someone else’s e-fit of him. All wrong. Something real is missing. This man is brittle, lean as a clip-point. His wrists are all bone.

N doesn’t flinch when the hammer falls and the final price is put on his own work. He is eerily still. Andrew thinks about a time when any loud noise would have made Neil startle with excitement, a new sensation, something to explore. When he was the most animated person in any room - all energy, all life.

The same thing happens on the next piece. And the next. Kevin and Dan are furious. Allison is watching Neil with the same deadly look in her expression that Andrew remembers from when she appeared at his front door all those years ago. 

Andrew doesn’t understand.

(And he doesn’t want to. He’s not interested. He doesn’t care.) 

But as the auction ends and Neil is in possession of all of his art once more, as Allison stalks towards the man they both know to be N, Andrew finally sees his face. Gaunt and blank, bruises under his eyes.

Neil looks like one of “The Scars” - a ruined version of himself, sunken and shrunken and beaten down. 

Andrew is moving before he can think about it. Moving to block Allison’s path, to stop her from reaching a man that is so clearly sick and strange and unlike himself.

Seeing Andrew coming, Allison stops. She knows the warning set of his jaw, it’s the same expression he wore when he threw her off his doorstep. She stops, but she grins. He can almost see the ideas spinning inside her skull. Muse and artist reunited once more? Was this a story?

When he turns, Neil is gone.

Fortunately, Andrew knows he has to be around. There’s paperwork to be done, after all. So he goes outside. There’s a familiar black sports-car parked there. Andrew leans against it and waits. And waits.

“Are you really going to smoke that entire pack waiting for me?" 

Andrew exhales smoke through his nose. 

Even Neil’s voice is ragged, rough with disuse. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. 

"What do you want, Andrew?" 

"You upset a lot of people here tonight,” Andrew says.

“What do you want, Andrew?" 

"Interesting move, buying up your own art. Are you trying to create a scarcity effect? Trying to inflate the price?”

Neil asks a third time: “What do you want, Andrew?" 

Andrew fixes a look on Neil, he really does look dreadful.

 _What’s with the contact lenses?_ He wants to ask. _What’s with the hair? Why are you so thin? What happened? Are you sick? Are you dying?_

 _”_ I’m not coming to your funeral,“ he says. 

"What?" 

"Whatever’s wrong with you, I won’t be there." 

Neil shakes his head. "I’m not dying.”

 _Lie. Lie. Lie_. 

Andrew didn’t realise he’d be able to hear dishonesty in Neil’s voice as easily as he ever had. 

“Don’t lie to a liar, Neil. Didn’t you tell me that?" 

"Ha.” Neil leans heavily on his cane, sees Andrew’s scepticism. Insists: “I’m not.”

“I’m taking a turn,” Andrew says, sees the pain lancing over Neil’s features when he hears it. It looks an awful lot like grief. 

Neil still nods. 

“Why are you buying back your art?" 

Neil’s face twists: mouth tipping down, eyes squeezing shut. "I’m destroying it. All of it.”

The cigarette nearly drops from Andrew’s lips. He catches it in time, rolls it between the tips of his fingers. “Why?" 

"It’s not your turn." 

"Then take yours." 

Neil looks at him. Andrew wishes his eyes weren’t muddy brown, that he could see the man he knew, not this underworld shade.

"No,” Neil says. “I’ve taken quite enough from you." 

It’s cryptic. It’s nonsense. It’s infuriating. 

"Fuck you,” Andrew says. "Why are you destroying The Scars?“ 

"Get off my car, Andrew." 

But Andrew knows about self-destructiveness. He’s not stupid. He knows that look.

And he might not care about art, or sculpture. He might hate Neil for the lies he omitted day after day. He might loathe Neil for giving him colours only to take them away. But Neil was on the right side of hope last time he saw him. He doesn’t like this grey-washed half-man.

"Tell me,” Andrew says. It’s almost a growl. “Tell me why you’re doing this." 

Neil sighs. "Not here. Get in the car. My place is nearby." 

Andrew never wanted to be in close proximity to Neil again but he wants to know what’s going on more than he can pretend he doesn’t care.

So they get in the car and they drive and they come to Neil’s apartment, a classic loft in a red brick block. It’s huge, shabby and unloved, everything a little tatty at the edges. 

_Like Neil,_ Andrew’s brain supplies. _Never taking care of himself, heart so big it felt empty._

Neil makes coffee. It’s just how Andrew likes it, from the sugar and cream right down to his favourite mug. 

He frowns. "You kept this." 

"I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry." 

The apology makes Andrew bristle.

Andrew asks for the truth again. Why is Neil destroying "The Scars”? 

“Not just them. All of them. All of it.” And Neil begins to talk.

It starts the day Andrew found his cat, when he turned up on Neil’s door, soaked to the bone with King tucked into the front of his coat. 

"I never told you why she was out there, did I? I threw her out. I was in way. Panicking. Freaking out. I thought nothing was safe.“

Neil talked about meeting Andrew. How he felt immediately drawn to him, like to like. He talks about the mornings when he woke up and the brightest thing in the day was the promise of Andrew’s presence. He describes how those bright moments translated into his work. 

"Hope.”

He doesn’t linger on the soft moments, though Andrew’s brain supplies them: iced coffee on the park swings, warm smiles, red hair against his shoulder, lying his head in Neil’s lap, sharing smoke, swapping truths.

“Hope,” Neil says like the word is a fragile thing. “Crept into everything I made. It made the edges softer, made jagged pieces slide together, drew colours out of grey stone." 

And he started making new things too - mixing gold and marble, hard with soft.

"I thought I was inspired by kintsugi - the idea of repairing broken things in a way that revitalises them. New life." 

And then Allison came. And she spoke to Andrew. And then she spoke to Neil. 

"She told me what you said, Andrew. She told me how very sick I am.”

Andrew frowns. “What did she say I said?" 

"That I hurt you. That I used you. That what I did was like rape.” Neil’s words are biting and blunted and all together mirthless. “I was taking from you without permission. That I’m just like him, like my father.”

Andrew is silent. 

“I hadn’t even thought about it. I know I should have. The work was just so separate to us - I didn’t see how I was using you. How I was abusing you. But of course it wasn’t kintsugi - it was you. Everything. The gold. The marble. The edges. The way they fit.”

“And the way I felt.” Neil’s breath is a rattle. He really is too thin. “The way I felt about you was also everything." 

"Was?" 

"Is,” Neil corrects, reluctantly. “And I know that’s wrong. That it makes you uncomfortable. And I get it. I do. It made me realise how my art is monstrous.”

“I wasn’t cutting anyone open. I wasn’t _physically_ hurting anyone. But I was destroying people. Flaying them alive. Slicing them open. Revealing their secrets. Wasn’t I? _The Scars. The Butcher. White Bones, Black Sand_. Every collection. Every act of brutalism. Exacted over and over with every witness.”

The silence that falls is oppressive. It’s the sky before a storm. The water closing over your head when you can’t swim.

Andrew knows he has to say something.

Andrew knows what he has to say. 

“Allison got it wrong, Neil. She got it wrong for both of us." 

Because Andrew was never angry about being a muse. 

No, when Andrew found out who Neil was, he felt cold. 

And when Allison asked him for comment on what it was like to be ‘the latest’, he felt numb. Like none of it was real.

Whatever they had was meant to be nothing. But finding out that it really was nothing - the coffee and the conversation, the confidences and shared quiet - all of it meaningless… That bottomed him out, sent him plunging straight down into the cold, dark places in his brain. That was why he was mad. That was why he left. 

_Was it all real after all?_

"You hurt me.” Andrew can’t deny that. He’d been prepared to never let anyone or anything else in ever again. Because Neil isn’t something he could ever take back or recover from. Neil was a chance he shouldn’t have taken. “But I’d do it all again.”

There is a moment when Neil’s brain hasn’t quite caught up - where he looks like he might be torn between running & crying & breaking apart. There is so much damage to undo here. Years they need to discuss. Issues Neil probably hasn’t spoken to anyone about, recluse that he is.

Andrew makes the first move - placing his mug on the table, moving to stand in front of Neil. He places two fingers under Neil’s chin, tilting his face upwards.

"You are Neil Josten, and right now you are sick, but not because you’re your father. You haven’t abused anyone. You never abused me.“

"Andrew…" 

"Don’t. Argue. About. This.” Andrew says. “I know you like to run your mouth and catastrophise - but tonight you’re just Neil, and I’m just the man who found your fucking cat. And you’re going to take out those hideous lenses and get some sleep.”

When Neil doesn’t move, Andrew lifts him out of his seat. 

When Neil stumbles without his cane, Andrew helps take his weight. 

When Neil asks Andrew to stay, Andrew borrows a t-shirt that’s just a tiny bit too snug and curls up on the other side of the bed.

When Andrew takes Neil’s hand, they’re missing the callouses he remembers.

When Andrew brushes Neil’s knuckles with his lips, they both almost stop breathing. 

Before Andrew falls asleep, he thinks maybe, just maybe, that if he asked for a kiss -a real one- Neil would say yes.

**-THE END-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr also found here: https://scribbleb-red.tumblr.com/post/187959665123/the-scars-sculptor-neil-x-muse-andrew-au


	3. The Cowherder's Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After seeing a haunting video of a traditional singer calling to cows, I wrote this - in which we have a Cowherd!Andrew and Woodsprite!Neil that can turn into a fox. Read on!

Abram is a wild woodland sprite - outcast from other fae because of his father. Nathan, a cruel sidhe who ousted Oberon, embraced human influence and grew powerful. Nathaniel Abram, however, refused to submit to this new way of life.

As trees have been cut down and his true home destroyed, he’s become a little feral and more than a little angry at humans. He hates them. And he’s terrified of them. He’s been running and hiding from them for centuries, after all, what’s there to love about these monsters?

It’s the 21st Century, being a cowherd doesn’t even sound like a real job anymore. 

Despite this, Andrew is one. 

He’s taken the job for the solitude, to recover. 

Following the Foxes, he bounced from job to job until he found the army - more specifically the airforce. Fighting was something he was always good at so why not? He figured the worst that happened was being killed in action. And who would even care about that? He was wrong. As if the ghosts in his head needed to be worse…

So here he is, on a hillside. Watching his cows in the quiet. 

They’ve walked miles today and he’s not hated it. When they start to go a direction he doesn’t want, he’s learnt if he sings he can call them back.

It’s old chords, old harmonies, ones he recalls but he doesn’t know where from.

The sound reverberates over mountains and through valleys, across stone and river and grass. The sound twists and slides between trees. 

The sound echoes in Abram’s chest.

It’s not an old song, it’s an ancient one. One he never hoped to hear again. All around him the woodland sings back, happy to hear their language.

Over hours or days or weeks - what is time to an immortal? - Andrew draws closer to the woods and Abram grows more curious about the singer who has made the land so happy, so nostalgic.

At night he dares to creep close - to slip on silent feet towards Andrew’s makeshift camp. 

There’s a small fire that makes Abram scowl. He snaps his fingers to dowse it but sees the human is shivering and pauses. 

_Fire is a nasty thing_ , he thinks, _but do humans need warmth_?

He watches instead. He takes in the white blond hair, the strong features, the frown beneath his brows, the nose ring, the way the man is coiled tight in his sleeping bag - like he’s clinging to sleep rather than sinking into it. There’s nothing restful about this human.

It unsettles Abram. But he watches until dawn, when the light turns the human into shades of gold, before melting back into the woods.

The days blur and blend, like sunrise seeping into the morning sky. 

Abram stays close to Andrew, lured in time and again by the song Andrew sings to keep his herd close. He notices how the cowherd tries so hard to stay away, how he twists and turns in his sleep.

Abram understands nightmares. 

When, for the third time in a night Andrew jolts awake and scrubs his face to shed his demons, Abram skitters away. He thinks of all the things that could help keep the demons in Andrew’s head at bay. He thinks of the song Andrew sings.

_Is it worth it? To share another secret when Andrew already knows an ancient song?_

It comes to a head when the human sways on his feet one morning nearly falling down when the wind blows. Abram doesn’t like humans. But he doesn’t like seeing this one suffer either. So while Andrew washes, he presses his hands to the earth and from his fingers grow flowers.

They are small and yellow-white, glowing slightly. Stir them into hot water and they sooth, settle, sweeten your soul. He steps back and waits for Andrew to find them. 

It does’t take long.

Andrew sees them and runs a finger over the petals, thoughtful, considerate. 

“You weren’t here before." 

The flowers turn towards the human, reaching for him.

With a nod of what looks like thanks, Andrew plucks them. Later that night, his sleep is silent and undisturbed.

The dance continues - Andrew’s song pulls Abram in, the morning sends him away.

Andrew knows something’s up. Each one of his senses says he’s being followed, being watched. He also knows that the land responses to him differently now than it did before. Flowers blooms where they didn’t before. Medicinal. Relaxing. Healthy.

He tends his cows, he keeps them together, he sings. 

Whatever spirits are looking out for him he doesn’t mind so much, though he finds it strange to have anything - even nature - looking out for him.

Still his curiosity grows. 

Like all humans, he can’t leave well enough alone. 

One night as he’s dozing, he feels a warmth that shouldn’t be there. Imagines footsteps, almost silent. He cracks open his eyes and sees a creature peering across at him, crouched on its haunches.

A fox. 

Red coat. Scarred muzzle. Blue eyes that don’t belong on a feral creature. A tail that’s long and fluffy and tipped with black. 

Andrew’s surprised. _Has it only been a fox all this time?_

He closes his eyes, tries to fall asleep.

The fox nustles closers - all huff and puff and then silence. Andrew’s lashes flutter open despite himself.

The fox is gone.

There’s a boy. _A distinctly inhuman boy._

There’s red hair that’s autumn-bright, blue eyes like a winter’s sky, skin a shade of snowdrop, freckles like sunshine through the trees. He’s not a monster, but when the creature’s mouth opens he sees teeth sharp as any briar, and when he turns to sniff the night air, his ears are pointed, tufted like the fox he’d been moments before. Leaves and fur clothe him - like his transformation is still half complete. Long fingers press against the earth. Tiny blossoms peak up through mud and grass.

 _Cornflowers_ , Andrew realises, _the type he’s been eating with his tinned edibles to give them a little more flavour and spice._

Andrew can’t help but stare - not at the creature but the flowers - he’s wondering what trick this is - whether the flowers are poison, are dangerous. He should have been more cautious. He should have…

The creature murmurs something, it’s not English, it’s not any language Andrew understands. Guttural and ancient.

And then the boy is gone. The fox is there by the flowers, nosing at them a second before huffing and curling up beside them, watching the simmering flames of Andrew’s fire with narrow eyes. 

Andrew’s eyes are only open a crack - unnoticeable it seems - he watches.

When he hears the snuffling of other wild beasts, the fox perks up and growls, pushing them away. When the fire begins to die, the fox breathes on the embers and they stir back to life. When the dawn arrives, the fox gives him a last glance and darts away.

Andrew doesn’t know what to make of it.

_Is this creature another monster out to ensnare him? A protector he never asked for?_

He goes through his day, half asleep on his feet. The fox boy never leaves his thoughts. Even the song he sings seems to change at the memory of him.

That night he sinks into sleep before he can stop himself. 

But he wakes around two when there’s a scuffle loud enough to rouse him. 

The fox is there, hackles raised, facing down a giant raven. The fox’s gekkering cry is a snarl and a scream when the bird swoops close.

For a moment Andrew is frozen. There’s something about the night that feels wrong, wrong, wrong. 

The bird swoops again and the fox yelps as talons catch its flank. Blood stains its pretty coat. But it snaps at the bird when it comes again, again.

At the sight of blood, Andrew roars to life, his hand snatches at his stick, swinging it high towards the bird. 

He doesn’t make contact but both bird and fox shriek and skitter. 

"Don’t you move,” Andrew says to the fox. “Let me handle this.”

The fox cowers, belly dropping low to the ground and tail flicking nervously. But the bird seems to be thinking twice before attacking again. Andrew stares it down as it hovers, unnaturally aware of him just like the fox.

The raven thinks better of coming near him now he’s awake and armed. It vanishes into the night. 

Warmth that Andrew barely realised had been missing floods back into the night air - the fire sparking back to life. The fox lets out a keening whine.

“It’s always fucking ravens,” Andrew grumbles. “You’re alright though. It’s gone." 

The fox whines again and doesn’t move. Those unnatural blue eyes are fixed on the stick Andrew is still brandishing. Lowering it slowly, the fox watching every centimetre, he disarms himself.

"You’ve been looking out for me. I’m not going to harm you." 

The fox doesn’t believe him - there’s a level of mistrust throughout its whole body.

As soon as Andrew’s disarmed, the fox lifts itself up and scampers away - not quite vanishing but watching from a distance that obscures his features.

"Thanks, by the way, for the flowers. Assuming they’re not poisoned or going to do anything nasty, they’ve been… nice." 

The fox huffs, steam spilling from its snout. 

"If you come back I’ve got salve for that flank of yours." 

The fox growls. That’s a no.

"Designed for cows anyway.” Andrew shrugs. “I’m going back to sleep. You don’t have to stay." 

But he knows the fox boy stays, wary and alert, until daybreak. He knows because there’s a dew-free patch of grass where the fox sat, surrounded by a new growth of cornflowers.

It takes a few nights before he sees the fox again. The creature is sneakier now. Smarter. There’s no sign of the raven.

But on the third evening he wakes to see the fox nudging at a salt shaker with its nose. 

Blink. 

Sees a boy lifting it with wary hands and sprinkling it in a loose circle around Andrew’s camp. 

Blink. 

Sees the fox standing outside the circle, triumphant, as black wings gyre above.

 _Fae_ , Andrew’s memory supplies. _Nicky had done a folklore course as part of his requirements and he’s sure it was fae that salt kept away._

Abram notices the moment that Andrew starts creating his own circle. He’s glad the human isn’t stupid. Not when his song has lured more dangerous fae to this part of the world. Still it makes him feel strange, being outside the circle, away from the human.

He sniffs around and settles near as he can each night, unsure what he’s still doing hanging around. 

He thinks of how the human offered him medicine - at the time all he’d thought of was getting away. Now all he wants is to be close.

Then again, it makes him feel safer, being on the other side of the salt line, when one night he arrives and the human is awake still, apparently engrossed in a book. 

Abram waits to be noticed. Lets out a chitter of interest. 

Andrew looks up briefly, raises one brow.

His eyes are gold in the firelight and Abram bounces against the line, wanting to know what story he’s reading. 

Andrew raises the book. 

Abram makes the same noise, interest, excitement, a question. 

"Okay then,” Andrew says. And starts to read aloud to the fox.

They read until Andrew falls asleep mid sentence. Then Abram turns in a boy and sits on the edge of the circle and keeps a wary eye until morning.

At some point the two of them became companions.

At some point Abram began to play with Andrew’s cows as a fox, dancing between their legs and making even Andrew smile.

At some point Andrew learnt that with a little coaxing, he could make the skittish creature shift back into being a boy with a bell-like laugh and a summer-wild grin.

They still never speak.

And as seasons turn and Andrew starts to sing his herd back home, he realises he’ll miss this - whatever this is - when he’s done, job over. He wonders about building a house out here. He asks the sprite one evening about it - the response is silence as usual.

But later when Andrew has dozed off and Abram sits with twitching ears and human hands, he thinks about what Andrew said. 

A human living out here could poison the land he loves, the land he’s managed to keep away from his father for so long. It would mean stealing power from the land and cutting down the trees. How long would it be before there were metal monsters chugging throughout Abram’s wild hills and ancient woodlands?

A human nest would draw the ravens in droves. 

It’s impossible. 

Isn’t it? That Andrew might stay? 

Andrew’s job finishes. It’s time for him to leave. 

Abram doesn’t stick around - he goes back to his world of plants and trees and moss and bracken. He goes home. He’s not lonely. Of course not.

He plays with the sylphs and the dryads. He babbles with the nymphs and the naiads. He bites back against the ravens. It’s a world he knows. A world that he’s born to be part of.

He doesn’t miss Andrew.

He doesn’t miss the herd of docile cows - their sweet snouts and playful games. He doesn’t miss cool nights spent curled against the side of a heifer or warm ones listening to Andrew read. He doesn’t miss the old song, the old chords curling over the hills and valleys.

He’s fine. He’s totally fine.

Andrew is not fine. He yearns for the land that the fox boy lived on - he wishes for the company that demanded nothing and gave everything. He looks into buying a small plot but knows he can’t destroy what’s already there. The land is fae land; he can’t ruin that.

He reaches out to the family he’s estranged from - thinking of companionship. He talks to his cousin. He exchanges numbers with his twin. He reconnects with Bee - his old therapist - but he can’t lie to her about the fae from the woods and she frets about his stability.

He has an idea after a conversation with Erik, Nicky’s husband. 

"How to build a home that’s entirely sustainable?“ Erik asks. "That’s doable. What are you thinking?”

So Andrew goes back to the wild land and the woods. He goes back and there’s no sign of the sprite. He tries offerings of milk and honey and all it attracts is bees and bugs. He tries reading aloud at dusk. He tries everything.

At last he sings.

Abram hears the familiar voice and is off like a shot even before it turns dark. 

He’s on four paws and running - a blur of red and brown and black.

_Andrew, Andrew, Andrew. His human._

Andrew has laid a votive. 

He’s knelt as if in prayer. 

He’s making a promise over a patch of wild cornflowers.

Andrew swears to protect the land. To only create what should be created. To never take except what should be taken. 

Abram listens - Abram accepts.

The fox shimmers and is man. He kneels opposite Andrew in the long grass. 

When Abram reaches forward, Andrew reaches back.

**-THE END-**


	4. The Witch Hunt AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world where humanity has just learnt about the supernatural and the witch hunts have started up again. Neil is a witch, connected to the sun and wind. Andrew is a half vampire, and a witch hunter. They meet in a bar in Boston.

In a world where humanity has just learnt about the supernatural and the witch hunts have started up again. Neil is a witch. Andrew is a half vampire. They meet in a bar in Boston.

Andrew is a hunter-for-hire, he'll do anything to keep his family safe even if it means turning against his own kind.

Neil is a sun witch keeping his head down.

They immediately keep running into each other though - in a bar, in a coffee shop, buying groceries and cigarettes.

It all comes to a head when Andrew notices Neil being followed out of a bar by a man that Neil very definitely said "no" to.

He follows and finds Neil on the ground, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and the man standing over him furious.

Rage floods Andrew. He attacks.

After that rescue, he can't stay away from Neil. There's something about him, an aura, a warmth, that almost makes him feel alive.

He doesn't realise Neil is a witch.

They have golden autumnal days that turn into weeks, into a month, nearly two, before everything falls apart.

Because Neil *is* a witch. And so was Drake.

Andrew is also *very* good at his job.

He's a hunter. He hunts.

And it doesn't matter that Neil is someone he's come to not hate, the man lied to him.

He's just like all the other witches, he tells himself, and then he acts.

It doesn't feel much like hunting when the prey thinks they're coming over for dinner but he laces the wine and waits.

Neil looks at the wine, drinks.

Before his eyes close, he says, "if you're going to deliver me to the Butcher, seal my magic first. Don't let him take it."

That makes Andrew pause.

The Butcher is a famous hunter - the best of them - what the hell would he want with witch magic? That power is wrong, it's wild magic, it's dark.

Andrew knows magic. Drake used it against him again and again and again.

No one should have that power.

The Butcher is meant to be a pinnacle of humanity, second only to the First Hunters, the Moriyamas.

Andrew might be a half vampire, but he knows that its witches that brought darkness into the world.

Witches created the dark creatures - the werewolves and vampires and ghosts.

He figures he doesn't have to deliver Neil directly.

He can drop him at one of the supernatural jails in Boston. He won't get as big a fee, but he'll be rid of Neil sooner.

And honestly, he doubts his resolve will hold if Neil talks - he's never felt for anyone like Neil.

*

Neil wakes up in a cell, or he assumes it is. It's tiny and dark and he can hear crying from somewhere nearby. He's been forced into a kneeling positions, his hands bound behind his back. His muscles sting. His magic aches beneath his skin.

He doesn't know that this will be the best of it.

This is the last moment for weeks where he will be able to think and assess and know his own name.

He will lie there, breathing rasping in his throat, the taste of iron on his tongue. Iron and blood.

He will feel hands on him, cruel and demanding and punishing.

Words - soft, horrible words - will stroke at his ears in a velveteen voice.

"Give it up, witch. Give in."

It becomes harder and harder to remember why he has to say no.

*

Meanwhile, what Neil said has been bugging Andrew.

That and the ripped feeling in his stomach like he's torn out a section of his insides.

He's taken time off to be with Nicky and Aaron, but not even their mothering and sarcasm can change the shape of this hole inside him.

He writes to the Court - asking for an update on Neil Josten, the witch he delivered.

The response comes:

_E X E C U T E D; November 20th._

Andrew knows it isn't true.

Knows it the way a flower knows when spring is coming.

Knows it in his bones, in his chest, in the cavity of his life where Neil just *fit*.

He turns to Nicky.

Nicky, the druid. Nicky, the non-magical sympathiser. The magic lover. The activist.

"How do I rescue a witch?" he asks.

Nicky's expression is all pride. "The same way you hunt them, Andrew, just without the stabbing and maiming at the end."

"The Court says he's dead."

"Then," Nicky says. "I know some people who might be willing to help."

Foxes. A whole skulk of them.

Andrew is not impressed by Nicky's life choices right now.

The werefox pack are smelly, overly affectionate and nip and nabber where Andrew prefers silence.

Led by a gruff former-soldier called Wymack, though, they're the best Andrew's gonna get.

They plan and Andrew hates their options.

Step one alone is enough to make them enemies of the Court and step two could see them executed.

But they go ahead: breaking into the Baltimore HQ, stealing as much data as they can re: the supernaturals arrested by the Court.

There's a black site outside of town - there's no detail on what's out there but Andrew knows instinctively that this is where Neil is.

He feels the pull of him, the red string growing smaller as they distance closes. He can almost sense him: Neil and his magic like autumn sun.

It's Renee, the only fox he doesn't immediately dislike, who confirms his suspicions.

"He's part of your anam cara," she says. "Surely you can feel that?"

Yes, Andrew can. Neil is part of his soul - Neil is his centre of gravity, the force that his life coalesces around.

The black site, it turns out, is basically a wasteland.

It's an endless field lined with row upon row of tin huts, no taller than Andrew's waist.

The stink is enough to set Andrew's sensitive vampire senses on fire.

It's all blood, faeces, sweat, anxiety, death.

He can't smell Neil though.

The foxes spread out, they're determined to release as many people as they can.

Barely anyone, however can walk. They're gaunt and fractured, magic weak and dying.

"Call Abby," Wymack tells Dan. "We need a portal out of here."

Andrew feels guilt like a second skin - this is the work he has helped bolster. This is what happens at the end of the hunt.

He finds himself running through the rows, his vampire called to the surface of his mind - he's wild with rage, desperate with need.

_Neil. Neil. Neil._

_*_

Neil is adrift in the darkness.

He's freezing cold and boiling hot.

He's dying.

It's the only thought he has left.

*

If it wasn't for the red strings between their souls, Andrew might never have happened upon the right prison. Neil's cell is sunk into the mud, as if the rain has tried to sink him, the earth to swallow him. Andrew wrenches the tin away with his hands, the metal screaming.

Inside is a man he doesn't recognise.

He looks terribly young and terribly old, wrists and ankles bound, dropping like a dead child. Naked, blood caked lips, stripped lines cutting up freckled skin, shaved head, a blackened sigil stark against his neck, a thousand new scars.

Andrew pulls him out and is relieved to hear a heart beat.

Andrew carries him back to the other, passing them, ignoring them.

This is his witch. His.

He's taking him home.

Abby's portal swallows them both.

*

Days pass before Neil to opens his eyes. Weeks until he starts to recognise the room.

It takes seconds for him to panic when he sees Andrew. He flinches away, tries to scramble but can't with the bandages, he releases a low whine that's all animal, all instinct.

Andrew flees.

It's Abby's suggestion that he give Neil some space. Andrew understands. He is a trigger. He is the one who did all this to Neil. The one who drugged him and trapped him and gave him to the real monsters. The one who nearly cost Neil his magic. Andrew leaves. He travels.

He visits the safe cities - like New Orleans and Salem and San Fran, which have turned into supernatural havens led by various covens.

He goes to Eden's Twilight, a club for the supernatural in Philedelphia. He parties and fucks and tries to forget Neil's shattered eyes.

*

Neil, on the other hand, slowly but surely heals.

His body regains strength.

His magic comes back - the wind returning to play with his hair, the sun curling around him like a blanket. The magic has missed him.

He's missed it twice as much.

He likes the Foxes - Abby and Wymack and Matt and Dan. He even likes Nicky, who he finds out is a druid and Andrew's cousin.

As the months pass, he learns to feel safe again, with them, behind their spells and wards. He doesn't leave the sanctuary often but it's enough.

The PTSD is terrible but he's learning.

He's learning to hold onto time again, to have thoughts, to stop hiding his magic and live.

He's able to accept Aaron at the dinner table occasionally, on good days.

He's able to think about Andrew and the agonising betrayal.

The thing is Neil knew from the start that Andrew was different. That Andrew meant something to his magic.

Renee explains Anam Cara to Neil and it makes so much sense.

Their souls were joined, maybe a thousand life times ago, and they will always call to each other.

"I'm ready to see him, I think," Neil tells Nicky one day. "Do you think you can get him a message?"

Nicky is worried but he says he can pass it along.

"He might not come," he warns. "He hurt you. And with how Andrew thinks about family..."

Neil knows. Their time in Boston had revealed many secrets between them, not least Andrew’s love for his family.

Neil hopes he really is ready to forgive Andrew.

But most of all - he hopes that Andrew can find a way to forgive himself.

*

Andrew receives the message.

_He hates himself. He hates himself._

He’s sweaty and can still taste Roland in the back of his throat.

_He hates himself. He hates himself. He hates him. He hates himself._

Nonetheless, he owes Neil. He'll always owe Neil.

So he packs himself up and heads back to Carolina and the Foxes.

*

Neil isn't surprised that his heart stutters the first time he sees Andrew.

He is surprised when Andrew flinches. "This was a bad idea."

"What, Andrew, stop. Wait."

Andrew stops.

"Don't go."

"Your heart gives you away, Neil. You're terrified of me."

"That's not..."

It is true. Neil is scared.

He's always scared these days.

He's scared of the dark, of his shadow, that this could all be a death dream and he'll wake up back in his cell.

But today he's more scared of Andrew walking away than anything else.

"I'm not scared of you."

Andrew stays.

Andrew stays that day and he ends up staying everyday after that.

They talk infrequently but sometimes they'll sit in the same room or at the same table, learning to be around each other again.

Like exposure therapy, Andrew thinks. And he hates himself.

The Court issues new decrees - they're getting steadily more powerful, taking more ground, threatening the sanctuaries created by supernaturals for themselves.

They're using witch magic. Stolen magic.

Neil tells them about his father and the blood spells he uses.

"They torture a witch to give up our magic and that kills us," Neil says. "But magic is all about balance, you know, that's why we're all connected to the elements. So when we die because our magic is stolen, everything goes out of balance. Light and Dark, it's all out of sync."

They need to bring down the Court, is what Andrew is hearing. He's not sure the Foxes are going to be enough.

"Perhaps not," Wymack says. "But we have allies."

And Wymack - former soldier, were-fox, pioneer of second chances - teaches Andrew how to build an army.

They recruit from New Orleans and San Fran, they spread the word through the visitors to Eden's Twilight.

They have an army.

And they're about to start a civil war. 

On the front line are the Foxes.

Leading the charge is Neil Josten.

There's something about being the sun of the Butcher - something is his story of escape and survival - that inspires people to believe in him. They rally around him. They love him. Andrew loves him too.

And when the battles begin, the sun shines down on them, ready and willing to blind their enemies.

The elements rise up around them, ready to take back the magic that's been stolen from them.

The supernaturals power forward. They might die but they'll die free.

**PART II**

We start in New Orleans, where the supernatural and their allies have taken over the city, fortifying it against hunters and humans of ill-intent - and most of all the Court.

The thing about wars that no body really tells you about, is that there's an awful lot of sitting around and waiting. Oh, the drill sergeants try to keep you busy, marching, practicing your shots, staying fit, keeping strong. But this is mostly to keep the minutes ticking by.

Andrew, who inadvertently had become a figurehead alongside Neil, finds it all rather boring.

He's a fighter. Waiting isn't in his blood.

He thought once the world work up and the battles began, that it would be quick. How long really could it take to annihilate the Moriyamas?

Neil had guessed though. He knew it would never be simple.

Look how far the Court was allowed to go because of human fear of the supernatural?

Prison camps.

Torture.

Genocide.

All on home soil.

All because the public was scared of what they didn't understand.

"Abrahamic religions really did a number on us, huh?" Nicky grouches one day.

Neil has to agree - after all, when paganism was pushed out of acceptable society, that was when the rift between magic users and mortals really began.

Neil watches Nicky sometimes.

As a druid, Nicky can feel magic but not use it. He's someone who fought against his parents despite the pain it caused him. He knows sacrifice. Sacrifice has been his whole life. And he's brave in a different way to other people, to anyone really.

Nicky also has a lover - a sidhe who calls himself Erik.

Neil watches them sometimes - the way they press together when they think no one is watching, how Erik will stroke his thumbs over Nicky's cheeks, how Nicky will lay Erik's head upon his shoulder after a hard day.

Neil thinks of those sun-dappled days in Boston - when he and Andrew were close as he's ever been to anyone. The casual touches that went straight through him and made his magic sing. The way Andrew looked at him, those impossible gold eyes warm as honey, bright as bullets.

Neil wishes Andrew would look at him like that again. But Andrew is a blank canvas, expressionless or scowling. His eyes are dark. Shadowed by guilt. And Neil doesn't want to feel guilt over causing that darkness in Andrew, but he does. He does and it hurts.

"Why do I feel guilty?" he asks Allison one day on the way home from a scrap against some minor hunters. "I shouldn't feel bad about this. He's the one who handed me over."

Allison's fox ears twitch. "Maybe because you haven't really forgiven him?" she says.

Neil frowns.

He has forgiven Andrew. He understands that Andrew was doing what he thought needed to be done to protect his family. He says as much to Allison.

"Maybe logically," Allison says. "But you haven't in here."

She taps his chest. And it's cheesy as hell but Neil gets it.

His head accepts Andrew. They sit through strategy sessions together and work well together in the field.

Neil still flinches every other time they touch.

He still feels anger when he sees Andrew alone.

He still doesn't know if kissing or killing him is the better option.

The other problem with war is that for all the waiting, there's never time to recover fully. Neil increasingly struggles with his panic attacks. Any time the lights go out he feels like he's back beneath a tin roof. Whenever he's alone too long, he feels his sanity slipping.

But overall, the supernatural are doing well.

Magic is on their side - it seeks balance always, and the wild magic that usually refuses to bend for anyone is letting certain witches tap into its resource.

They reclaim whole cities, freeing prisons and emptying black sites.

They strip away the black power that the Court have laid over the land and free the spirits, they clean the ley lines and breathe power back into the soil.

Neil can feel the earth singing with thanks.

*

Andrew finds Neil one night, the idiot trying to stay awake to avoid his nightmares. They've won Savannah today and the ocean breeze is warm and heavy.

They don't talk but Neil's magic brushes against him, curious, tentative, happy to see him. He's learnt a lot, these last few months. About light magic that depends on rituals and order. The dark magic that requires sacrifice and chaos. It's all one spectrum, he knows that now. He wishes someone had told him all this earlier. How simple the balance was. How essential.

Neil is balance personified - his sun magic making him glow; the wild wind constantly buffeting around him, cheeky and cheerful.

In his war attire, he looks like the witch he always should have been - resilient and powerful and beautiful.

He was always beautiful though.

*

There's a battle that goes horribly wrong in North Carolina - more injuries and injured than they've taken before.

Abby's overwhelmed with people portalling back for healing.

It takes three days to fully regroup.

It takes three days before anyone realises Andrew is missing.

Aaron is the one who flags it - he's been helping the other healers (turns out half vampires are pretty good at detecting blood types and organising the right transfusions to the right people) and it's only when he's able to lift his head that he notices the absence of his twin.

Aaron is the 'normal' one, the 'quiet' one, the 'grumpy but decent' one (now isn't that a joke) so no one is expecting his RAGE.

It's a fury that could burn the world down - and will unless they find Andrew.

Neil tries to remember the last time he saw Andrew - It was in the field - he was leading a faction into Durham, he was deadly and furious, all claws and fangs, every atom of his supernatural parentage showing. Neil lost track of him after the first explosion.

There had been so much black magic - he could feel the deaths of hundreds of witches in it - and for the first time in years, he'd seen his father's magical signature.

The Butcher of Baltimore was nearby and Neil had been determined to get everyone out before he arrived.

Everyone but Andrew, it seemed.

Aaron is the one hissing and spitting his accusations now.

_You never could forgive him. You wanted this didn't you? You did this. You did this. You did this._

Nothing Neil says will change Aaron's mind. The only language that matters now is action.

Neil leaves the Foxes that night, telling Renee he'll be back, to look after them whilst he's gone.

"It might be a couple days. I'll be back."

He heads towards the mountains, driving a stolen car and seeking the highest point he can.

Passing Hickory, Plateau, Asheville.

The Blue Ridge Mountains welcome him. The mist parts, the stone hums under his feet, the trees whisper and they could be prayers or promises, but Neil knows he has allies in the earth here. He climbs and climbs.

He finds his way to the top of the chimney rock - his war cloak swirling around him in the wind, his skin lighting up from the inside as the sun magic spills from within.

["Find him,"](https://twitter.com/chryseos1/status/1180122555639836678?s=20) he asks the elements. "Find him and help me bring him home."

Andrew is almost out of sight from the sun - he's in a dark, cramped cell that lets in the barest trickle of light, but it's enough. The sun knows him like it knows his witch, it flares when it finds blond hair matted with blood.

The wind has more luck, there's a cranny or five that are more than enough to create a draft. It eddies and swirls around Andrew, nudging at him, tugging at him.

 _Wake up, wake up, wake up_ , it whispers _. Let's blow this joint._

Andrew would recognise Neil's magic anywhere, though he had no idea Neil was so powerful. He forces himself upright, tries to ignore how thick his tongue is, how fat his head feels. He pulls on his clothes, tries to ignore the damage Drake left behind. Magical and physical.

The wind and the sun find the break in the wall and prise stone from stone from stone until there's a space big enough for Andrew to step out of. He's dozens of storeys high. The height nearly makes him sick. He trusts Neil's magic to catch him as he steps out into thin air.

Neil returns to the Foxes to see Andrew being bundled off to Abby.

There's horror in everyone's eyes. He wishes he didn't know why.

He follows Andrew, magic pulling him towards the half-vampire as if it needs to be sure that Andrew really is safe.

Or maybe that's just Neil.

Andrew sense Neil before he sees him.

He thinks about how the wind saved him, cradled him close, gentled him downwards towards the ground.

"Not there," he'd rasped. "Not inside the walls."

The wind had listened, carried him out, away, homewards, here.

That was Neil, Andrew thinks, that power was all this witch, this man, who I love and who I want and who I hurt but saved me anyway. Andrew's not ready for any of those thoughts but he makes himself hold onto them anyway. They're sharp and jagged in his grasp. They're real.

"We're going to destroy them," is the first thing out of Neil's mouth.

"Every one of them. My father. Drake. The Moriyamas. We're going to end them."

"I know," Andrew says.

He holds out his hand for Neil and Neil takes it.

It's an agreement, a deal, and so much more.

**PART III**

Part 3 starts with a letter - it arrives in a thick envelop, crisp and clean and sealed with a black raven stamp. It is addressed to Neil and when he opens it all his fears are confirmed.

It's from the Moriyamas.

It states their intention, they are not going to let the supernatural claim back the country. They are not going to cede control.

_But Nathaniel, sweet boy, wouldn't life be better on our side?_

_Come to us,_ they write, _and we'll pardon you. You're a powerful man, a good man_.

_You don't need to go down with the rest of them._

_Join us, they write, you'll be rewarded. Like you father and your father's father, you'll be at our red right hand._

_You'll be a hero amongst men._

They promise the Butcher is part of the war too. Lola and Romero and DeMaccio.

Neil didn't need to read the rest. He called upon the sun and it burnt the paper to ash that the wind caught and scattered to the aether. He looks around at his army - the Foxes who inspired it all, the fae who chose to fight with him, Nicky with his too bright smile. Andrew. Andrew who sometimes seemed to only continue out of spite, who spent so much time protecting others that he forgot to protect himself. Andrew who is cold and strong and stoic; whose eyes watch him back, less like bullet casings now and more like the sun between autumn leaves

"The Moriyamas are trying to rile us but they're on the back foot," he tells Andrew and then the Foxes. "They're brought in their full army - they wouldn't put the Butcher on the field unless they were desperate."

"So we're winning?" Nicky asks, he looks so painfully hopeful.

"Not yet," Neil says. "But we're a worry to them. They know we're a threat."

"It'll only get more dangerous from here." Andrew's tone is flat. His words brisk and blunted.

"Yes," Neil says. "Much more dangerous."

They're both right.

From the next sunrise, the losses begin to pile in.

The Butcher is powerful - he's been hunting witches a long time and taking their magic for his own. He can take out every life within a radius within minutes. It's bloody and brutal every time.

They lose Savannah first.

The Butcher arrived and sent in Lola, wreathed in pestilence. She rode in like one of the four horseman, mouth a red rictus as the sickness spilled from her hands, took hold, and killed.

Every witch died.

Every fae and creature had to flee.

Abby can't do anything for them. The quarantine overflows on the third day. They have to leave the city entirely.

The next loss is Roanoake. The supernatural have barely been there a month but they're pushed out by Romero, who scorches the earth, burns everything in his sight.

Most survive but are not without injury.

Romero performs the same feat in Greensboro, Winston-Salem, Boone.

The tactic seems to be scattergun - they're not taking out one area or one state. They're not clearing a path. It's almost like they just want to target places where their actions can be seen. Where there are enough witnesses to their power that they cannot be doubted.

It sounds like the sort of thing Nathan would do. He likes to play with his food before eating too.

Andrew is back to thinking about war. How no one tells you how the colours disappear, how all that's left are shades of despair, death, deception, and desperation cast over an abyss of fear. Even Nicky is grey now - shine struggling against the horrors he's seen. Andrew thinks it's a good thing that he already knew all about the darkness before this happened. That he had killed and been killed. That he had hurt and been hurt. It feels less like something is being taken from him every time he raises another farewell to the dead.

Neil is struggling.

Then again, he's always been struggling, Andrew knows that. The panic attacks and nightmares are hard to ignore when you sleep in the next room.

Andrew's exhausted just listening to the terrified flutter of Neil's heart behind his ribcage.

War is not a time or place for recovery and as the spearhead, it's not like Neil can take time out.

The next time he hears Neil startle awake, panting and choking on his tears, Andrew goes to him.

"Come on," he says. And Neil comes.

They leave the house and then the town, they weave down the banks of a river that Andrew just *knows* used to belong to a spirit of some kind, it's too peaceful otherwise, too content.

He's been visiting here since his reintroduction to Drake and his unique use of magic.

He takes Neil all the way to the river bend, to the view of the fields and the shimmering rustle of the rushes.

It's his peace place.

He lights a cigarette and passes it to Neil.

They smoke side by side in the crepuscular haze of dawn, the sun barely thinking about rising.

Tomorrow they'll lose Charlotte, Newbury, Athens.

Tomorrow they'll wrap gauze around another face, burn more bodies, send off more prayers to the gods.

But that's tomorrow.

In the few hours left before then, they sit. They smoke. They let the tips of their fingers brush.

Neil rolls the cigarette between his fingers.

"I hate this," he whispers and it could be to Andrew or the rushes or the sun.

"I hate that it came to this. All of this slaughter. All of this dying."

Andrew knows what he means, how buried in there Neil is saying: _I hate the civilians, the mundanes who sat back and let the prison camps go up. I hate the callous, the complacent, the unimaginative, and easily led. I hate how we have to die to take the power back._

But that's the one truth everyone knows about war.

War is just bodies running against bodies until one side gives in and says 'enough'.

When they go back they've lost Charlotte and Newbury and Athens. There's a truck in the street unloading new bodies for the pyre. Neil's mouth is a hard line.

Andrew touches the back of his hand. "We're going to destroy them," he says and it's an echo of Neil's promise.

Neil and Andrew take time every week after that, to walk down the river. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't.

 _It's like Boston_ , Neil thinks, and he stares at Andrew when the sun rises and hits his fair skin, haloing his blond hair. He wants to reach out and touch.

The Butcher captures Neil by accident.

Or rather, Lola does.

It's good luck on her part and bad luck on his.

At first she doesn't even realise what she's done.

Neil is Wilmington - they've had a string of wins along the coast and he's part of a search party to see if they can launch an attack by sea. He's not meant to be there but Erik needed to swap out after taking iron to his knee and Neil didn't think it would be a big job.

He's in the market when it happens.

Lola. The black spots popping up on the skin of the mortals around him.

Neil is - on the one hand - delighted to realise that Abby's tonic works because he's not sick, but on the other, the fact that he's not dying kind of gives him away.

She doesn't recognise him or his team either - they're all in mundane clothes and Neil's hair is carefully tucked beneath a blue hat.

It's not until she and her troupe are herding them towards a Court van and Neil decides to try and create a distraction, that his cover blows.

He summons the wind first, tapping on the faces of his team to make sure they're ready.

Then he pulls. He pulls on the wind and it blows through the town - it bashes through windows and tears apart shutters. He pulls again, releases a cyclone through the streets.

And then he lifts his hands to the sun.

White light. Blinding and furious rips through the town.

He buffets at his team and they flee.

They're running, running, running. Freedom is there. He can taste it.

Then one trips.

Yelps.

Falls.

It's Nicky.

Neil would never have left anyone but he especially can't leave Nicky. So he redirects the wind and--

**CRACK**

Whatever hit Neil filled his head with the bright sound of shattering glass.

He dimly heard someone screaming his name but it was coming through syrup.

The next thing Neil knew was Lola's nails, stroking along his cheek, her voice cooing in his ear.

_Wake up, pretty boy, wake up, wake up._

He was blindfolded and bound and he could feel the placed in his ribs and spine where Lola must have kicked him whilst he was unconscious.

He listened to his body, playing dead a while longer.

The injuries weren't as bad as they could have been, he hurt but not so much as when Andrew pulled him from the camp all those months ago.

And the blindfold was interesting.

It made him realise that they didn't understand his magic at all.

Because he could still sense the power under his skin. Waiting.

Wherever he was, he wasn't in total darkness. There was natural light coming from somewhere, enough to activate the sun burning in his blood.

Did they really think that just because he couldn't see the sun, the sun couldn't see him?

Didn't they know that magic was just as conscious as anything else and that a blindfold was just an annoyance to someone like him?

Her fingers dig into the flesh below his eye and drags him back to the present.

Oh yes, Lola hasn't killed him already for a reason.

Dread fills him - knowing what that must mean.

And then resolution pools in his gut.

He has a plan.

He's going to survive.

Lola of course doesn't make it easy. She's been taught by the best and she likes to toy with her prey just as much as the Butcher. Neil endures as she burns him and bites him, as she strips him and pisses on him. Neil endures because that's the only option he's left with.

You have a plan.

You have a plan.

You have a plan.

He tells himself over and over, clinging to rational thought, telling the sun to wait, just a minute longer, just a bit more.

We have a plan.

When the Butcher arrives, his stink gives him away.

Like burnt flesh and old sweat. It's grotesque. If Neil had anything in him to throw up he probably would.

Nathan wants information on Neil's mom but she died years ago.

Nathan also wants to brag.

Neil encourages it.

He listens carefully to the talk of the Moriyamas:

Riko Moriyama who likes to psychologically destroy his victims.

Ichirou Moriyama, who prefers efficiency.

Kengo Moriyama, who survives only thanks to vampire blood.

Tetsuji Moriyama, whose camps Neil knows too well.

"Ah DeMaccio, you brought the stone?"

Neil flinches. So they plan to crush him then. It surprises him. He thought his father wanted blood.

As his hands are loosened, just to move him from the chair where he's bound, he puts his plan into action.

Neil has always known that he's powerful.

The sun has always loved him and he has loved it, the same with the wind that lulls him to sleep and tickles him awake.

He has always known that should he need to call on them in desperation, they would listen.

And so he does.

This isn't the controlled power that he uses in a fight.

This isn't the hope and prayer he poured into saving Andrew.

This is all his desperation, all his hate, all his longing and pain.

This is every ferocious thought he has ever had.

The wild magic screams.

And it burns him.

First from the inside.

Then everywhere. 

The power rages in his chest and splits him open, it rips through his skin and his sight and his sense of humanity.

Neil burns and he burns the Butcher with him.

**PART IV**

We start where the last part ended: in Baltimore.

In a house that the sun burnt from the inside out: scorched, blitzed, destroyed.

A young man stands in the rubble. He is more magic than mortal now. Just power in the shape of a human.

Like everyone nearby, Andrew Minyard has been pushed back by the heat and the relentless wind.

He kneels in the dirts of Leakin Park, trying to understand what's happened.

The world is falling ash. Debris flurries around him. A roar is in the air, a buckling rumble and blast.

At first, his ears can hear nothing but that roar: buildings aflame, rubble crumpling, tides of ash, ash, ash, and smoke. So much smoke.

Then, Andrew can hear his comrades choking.

The park now is otherworldly. An underworld where everyone is a ghost.

Andrew knows he needs to get to Neil. Neil who apparently did all of this. Caused this destruction. Neil who, for one blinding second, had been visible looking for all the world like a flare splitting out from the sun.

He pushes himself to his feet, ignores how glass cuts into his knees and hands, shimmers in his hair. He staggers forward. He trips over a body, hears a small moan so he doesn't stop to make sure they're okay. He needs to reach Neil, anyone else is up to the Foxes.

The Butcher's house is a husk, charred black and ruinous.

Neil seems to hover in the middle of it all - the shape of him unmistakable, the candlebright of his hair giving him away as it always did.

"Neil," Andrew tries to call out, but the wind steals his voice with a wail.

He has to get closer but the air is scalding.

Andrew's skin is already blistering, the half-humanity he possesses not enough to protect against the sun's stinging anger.

"NEIL." He tried again and stumbles a few steps further, forcing himself deeper into the heat.

This time the wind shoves him down with a scream that sounds horribly familiar.

"Neil, it's me. Us. The Foxes."

Every word is cut off and thrown back. Andrew realises that Neil cannot hear him. Will not hear him.

But the magic *is* listening. Andrew can work with that.

He lets his knees give way, places his ruined palms against the earth. He closes his stinging eyes. He feels for the magic in the earth, the way Nicky always told him was possible. He searches for the magic that cradled him home. For the power that saved him from Drake.

He doesn't find it.

There's just the stink of burning wood, ozone, smoke. The pain in his palms.

He doesn't find it.

He bites his lip, feels his fangs rise to the surface, elongating as his desperation grows.

There's a word on the tip of his tongue. A word he refuses to say.

"What is magic, to you?" he remembers asking Neil once.

"It's breathing," Neil had said. "It's that first breath of air as you come out from the water. It's waking up from a bad dream and realising you're still alive."

Andrew seeks that feeling now. The smoke is overwhelming.

He drops his head to the ground and whispers Neil's name.

_Neil. Neil. Neil._

And then.

 _There_.

A small bright thing that responds to him. Prickling like curiosity.

 _Neil_ , Andrew thinks again, _listen to me. It's over. Come back.Come back. Come back. Come back come back comeback comebackcomebackcomebackcomeback._

Andrew's consciousness reduces to a thought. Two words that he tries to imbue with a thousand meanings: his comfort, his promise, his adoration.

He shares safety, peace, desire, love.

The magic is mayhem; it is wild and hot and furious.

"We need you, Neil." Andrew trembles. Blood dripping down his face.

"We need you human, with us."

The magic grows hotter, closer.

Andrew bites out the words: "I need you." And gods, how he hates that it's true.

-Andrew-

It's a voice but it's not human. It's a star burning billions of miles away, crackling and impossible.

Andrew opens his eyes and the world is red and white, so bright that he slams them closed again.

-Keep your eyes closed. We don't want to hurt you.-

"We?"

-We are the magic of the world. We came to help our child, the witch you call Neil. He is ours now.-

"Give him back." Andrew doesnt know if demands will register with an ancient power like this but he has to try. "Give him back. I need him."

-And who are you, Andrew Minyard?-

Andrew shakes, feels blisters on his pop and break open.

_Who is he?_

He's a twin. A cousin.

He's otherkin, half-vampire, half-human.

He's a hunter and a soldier.

He's a man who's been broken too many times.

He's a survivor who's always stitched himself back together.

"I'm anam cara," he tells the magic. "I am the the other half of Neil's soul, as he is mine."

He knows this is true. No matter their past, no matter what relationship they have in the future or what distance passes between them.

Neil's jagged edges are smooth against his.

*

Neil wakes up in a dark room but a soft bed.

He recognises the smell. Cayenne and sage incense. He's back in New Orleans.

There's a weight at his feet, a hunched figure, blond hair still bright in the dim light.

"N'drew?"

Andrew raises his head slowly, eyes finding Neil's in the dark. Sighing, his hand slides along the bed to take Neil's.

"Don't do that again," Andrew says, and drops his head back to the bed.

The cold of Andrew's skin is wonderful.

Memories come back to Neil in drips and drabs.

Lola. Her knives. His father. The magic. The burning.

When he remembers the feel of that power he quakes.

"What did I do?"

"Well, the Butcher is dead. And so is his crew," Andrew mumbles.

"So one down. Two to go." Neil replies. They have Drake to go. And the Moriyamas.

The Moriyamas.

His father talking about them. His father bragging about them, telling him all about their inner workings. Neil needs to tell them what he learnt.

"We need to call the Foxes."

"It's 3am, Neil. We'll talk to them in the morning."

Neil realises that's why it's so dark. He realises that Andrew intends to sleep like that, curled over the bed despite it being big enough for two.

Neil shuffles painfully, making Andrew stir. Frown.

"Come on," Neil says.

Abby finds them in the morning, curled together like two question marks that have finally found their answer.

After three days Neil is released from Abby's care. The magic is still thick and bright belong his skin but it's listening to him as much as it ever has. The wind is a constant companion too, playing close and teasing. He tells them everything he learnt. And between Wymack, Dan and Kevin, it's inevitable that they end up with a plan. Without the Butcher, there's a power vacuum. It's time to bring the Moriyama's down.

The Foxes lead a series of victories - taking town after town, surrounding the Moriyamas and their Court.

Andrew leads. Remembered for his viciousness as a hunter, he's recognised as a monster big enough to bring down the Court. He stands by Neil, fangs bright in the sun.

Kevin stands at their right hand, leading the foxes. He holds his knives loosely in both hands. Riko might have tried to maul him once, but he was never going to slow him down for long.

Renee takes up their left, serene as ever, her hair turning from rainbow to red.

Andrew grins a feral grin when she catches his eye - he's glad she's willing to set free the Fury buried in her blood.

Erik, the sidhe and the fae build out the ranks. There are spirits in the sky, in the water, in the earth.

Healers stay behind, druids holding the portals.

Around the country, the media is going wild - they're trying to understand, trying to decide if this is good change or true evil.

The supernatural are gaining power - they're displacing the hunters.

But the Court has been using black magic too.

There are no heroes anymore.

"We're going to win," Neil tells Andrew.

"Well we'll win or die. Either one works."

"I'm so glad you're an optimist."

But Neil is nervous. He's been told he can't lose control like he did in Baltimore. If he does there's no guarantee magic will return him a second time.

"So," says Dan when the sun begins to creep over the horizon. "This is what we've been waiting for."

"Let's do it," Matt says.

And it starts.

The fight starts badly - almost as soon as they arrive, Riko is there. For all that Neil's foxes and their allies are fierce, the Raven Court is angry and on the back foot and they're done playing games. This is a fight to the death. Someone at the end will say 'enough'.

But not yet.

Riko is there with a sneer and two fists full of black magic. It reeks of death and despair. He aims straight for Kevin, the little fox who ran away, who managed to escape the Court.

All around are bodies fighting, fae against salt and iron, vampires and werewolves facing silver and stakes. The Court has weaponised in a big way and the supernatural fall one after the other. Not even with their preternatural speed can they outrun bullets.

Andrew and Neil find themselves in the fray, Andrew keeping Neil safe whilst his magic attacks - the wind trips any enemy it touches, the sun blinds and blinkers, scorches and burns.

It's not enough.

Riko stalks forward at inhuman pace. He's gunning towards Kevin. He's grinning from ear to ear, the devil in his eyes. Kevin doesn't cower - he howls, charges forwards until the two of them meet, stolen magic against natural power. The resulting collision is epic - the armies on each side are blown back. The energy roiling around them is black and red and green and orange. Their faces are so close, their noses almost touch. Their teeth are sharp and ready rip out throats. Fists fly, they tangle. The battle goes on.

Renee has let herself loose - her fingers have become claws, her hair deep red and darkening with every enemy she cuts down with her talons. She slices through another man's throat and another. She hears Allison's cry and she spins. Allison is on the ground. Renee has never moved so fast - she's racing, leaping, tearing through the spine of the one trying to keep Allison down. Allison rises and looks like she might be about to say thank you when her face turns white with horror.

Renee doesn't feel it at first. Her death.

But she smiles as the darkness accepts her.

Andrew sees her fall.

And then he sees red.

"We need to finish this," he snarls and he's all teeth, all anger, all animal.

Neil shakes where he's holding onto the fine threads of his humanity. He can't give any more without disappearing.

But Neil has an idea.

"Take over the attack," he tells Andrew. "Make me your defence."

Andrew looks at him. Really looks.

"I'll create a shield for us. As many of us as the wind will recognise. We can do this."

Andrew doesn't need to be told twice. He lets himself go as Neil closes his eyes, tucks his arms close and *defends* Neil's magic is a miraculous thing, responsive and willing. Every person he's ever touched in friendship can feel it.

Bullets burn away before they strike. Salt becomes dust. Kevin finds himself with a layer of power protecting him from Riko's blows and it's all he needs - the distraction makes Riko pause and Kevin slides a knife between the third and fourth ribs. Riko crumples. Dies.

Allison has gone feral. She's between Matt and Dan, shifting between fox and woman, trying to push and bite and pull and snarl a path through the thicket of Court soldiers.

With Neil's magic, she's unstoppable.

Wymack sees what's happening and he can also see how attention is moving over to the sun witch in the centre of the chaos, how he glows and pulses and protects everyone - except himself. He hefts himself into position, becoming the guard that Neil needs.

Andrew is a monster.

He's always known as much. In his earliest memories his foster mother is shaking him until his teeth rattle, telling him over and over that he belongs in hell.

He's never been so glad to be a monster as he is today.

Blood is everywhere - under his nails, in his mouth, down his front. It tastes of too many men who've used black magic - sticky and dark and contaminated. Glancing bullets shatter against Neil's magic, the wind knocking still more off target. Andrew rips deeper and deeper.

Tetsuji is the first of the Moriyamas he kills. But not the only one he has his sights on - he has found his way to the centre of their Court.

Ichirou Moriyama stands there, quiet almost. Calm.

When Andrew approaches, Ichirou raises his hands. Andrew knows that move. Ichirou wields magic. And when it pools in his palms, Andrew realises it's not black. When it fizzes through the air, Andrew sees that it's Ichirou's own power. It tastes like dead earth and bones.

"Necromancer," Andrew hisses.

"Well done. For a bastard of the night, you're not a complete idiot."

Snarling, Andrew rushes forward.

Ichirou twitches his fingers and the earth groans and pushes Andrew back. He staggers and growls.

Neil's magic isn't enough here.

Andrew has his vampire half, his extra speed, his more-than-mortal strength. But he needs more.

He thinks of Renee. Her body as it fell, red hair over her pale face.

He just needs to get close enough.

The tactic is one he saw in a film once, zigzagging backwards and forwards, leaping and bounding as Ichirou's necromantic power pushes and drags at him, as his earth magic makes the ground rumble and roar.

 _Speed_. _He needs more speed. More._

He's running.

Neil would be proud.

But outside Wymack is tiring. Neil's defence protects them as they attack but it can't give them more numbers and the supernatural are grossly outnumbered. Neil is a bright target in the middle of it all - oblivious and vulnerable.

Matt sees how Wymack flags and howls for the Foxes to regroup - Kevin and Dan and Allison carve their way back to their witch's side. They can't let him fall.

Inside and outside the war climbs to its apex.

The sun burns down upon them all.

The day watches as horrible thing after horrible thing occurs - no violence goes unobserved by the sky.

Magic weeps for its fallen children.

And then magic screams.

For all Neil's efforts, Ichirou's magic is powerful too. It punches through Andrew's chest and splatters his life across the earth. At the same time, the Moriyama heir chokes on his own blood, Andrew's knife lodged in his throat. Neil is screaming too.

Neil is screaming and his magic is flaring outwards.

He's flowing between the Foxes before they could stop him, stepping into the air like he was made to walk on it.

He's spearing through the sky as if gravity doesn't exist.

He's searching for the other half of his soul.

He finds Andrew on the ground, blood soaking the earth around him. Andrew has never looked more human, more fragile.

Ichirou gargles in the background.

Neil fixes him with a look of pure hatred.

"Fuck you."

He throws his hand out, his eyes glow blue, the sun burns the Moriyama to ash.

Dropping to his knees, Neil tries to work out what to do with his hands - knows he needs to stop Andrew's bleeding but it's coming from everywhere. There's a cavity where Andrew's shoulder used to be. He can see bones.

Andrew's eyes flutter at Neil's touch.

He's in shock.

"Andrew, hey." Neil strokes his hand down Andrew's face. "Stay with me okay. We've done it. They're gone. Kengo can't rule alone. We've won."

Andrew's teeth when he smiles are red.

"Just hold on okay?" Neil tries not to cry.

Andrew's lips move. He's trying to say something.

Neil leans close.

He can feel the words more than hear them: "Thank you," Andrew says. "You were amazing."

Neil doesn't want to cry. He doesn't want to cry because if he cries then he's accepting this.

He bites his lip so hard he can taste blood.

"Don't you dare leave me behind now," he whispers against Andrew's cheek. "Andrew, stay."

But Andrew's chest has stopped moving.

Neil lets out a howl and his fingers clench in the ruins of Andrew's shirt. He lets go, cups Andrew's face, begs him to open his eyes. He kisses him. Tastes the blood on both their lips. His tears fall.

Kengo Moriyama surrenders the next morning. He retires from the Court. The supernatural decide that Wymack will take over to dismantle it. The message goes out to open all the prisons and release every supernatural who never saw a trial but was put in a cage.

Abby treats the wounded. They are numerous. There are lost limbs and lost eyes and lungs destroyed by gas and smoke and ash. Survivors all carry horrors in their skulls that cannot be unseen, guilt at all the things they had to do.

The Foxes mourn. Renee with her rainbow hair and her smile and her kindness is gone. They know what she was - that she'll come back in some distant future in some other form. But she won't ever be Renee.

Neil hunts down Drake.

He goes alone and he carries the former soldier's head back on a spike.

"For Andrew," he says when he's asked.

No one dares fight him on this.

The war is over.

Weeks pass.

A few skirmishes occur as the hunts are closed down but a new order is in place.

Wymack announces an election to take place six months from now. In the interim, he and the war council will run the country.

Anyone - human or supernatural - can run.

Anyone - supernatural or human - can vote.

A month goes by. It's meant to be spring but the sun has barely shown itself since the war ended. Spring turns into summer. The sky remains grey and cold.

In a small garden in New Orleans, Neil lets the wind nuzzle at his cheeks like a particularly affectionate cat.

He sits alone, coffee going cold in his hands.

He's not really thinking. Just being.

"Neil," says Abby. "He's awake."

Andrew woke up eighty-six days after the battle. He feels incredible. Warm and alive and full of energy. It's like he's eaten the sun. He's swinging himself out of bed, only now noticing the atrophy of his muscles, when Neil arrives - wan and drawn and carrying Drake's head.

"That's disgusting," Andrew says. "How long have you been carrying that around?"

Neil drops the head - which is shrivelled and black and only recognisable because of the nose - and almost falls before he manages to reach Andrew's arms.

Gathering Neil close, he presses his nose into the hollow of Neil's collarbone and inhales.

"We need to stop having these moments," Neil mumbles into Andrew's hair. "I've really had enough of hospital rooms. Even Abby's."

Andrew couldn't agree more.

They held onto each other for a long time.

Andrew breathing in Neil and Neil listening to Andrew's heart beat steadily in his chest.

Later, Neil will tell Andrew how he's alive. How Neil accidentally fed him Neil's own blood and how magic decided that meant Andrew was theirs.

"Theirs?" What the hell does that mean?

"You're kind of a bit of a witch now too," Neil says. "I'm sorry."

"Don't," Andrew warns. "Fuck. Wait. So I'm a vampire with *sun* magic or something? Are you kidding?"

Neil shakes his head. "You always did like to be ironic."

Andrew thinks about it.

Andrew doesn't really know what being a witch means for him. He also doesn't really care.

He has Neil.

Neil has him.

"I want to kiss you, yes or no?"

And as always, Neil says yes.

**-THE END-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing Andre (aka Chryseos1 on Twitter) made some gorgeous art for this fic. Here are the links:
> 
> https://twitter.com/chryseos1/status/1180554451448471552?s=20
> 
> https://twitter.com/chryseos1/status/1180122555639836678?s=20
> 
> https://twitter.com/chryseos1/status/1179835482584371200?s=20
> 
> https://twitter.com/chryseos1/status/1180895288216686593?s=20


	5. Honey, I’m home - A First Home AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When Neil and Andrew buy their first house together, it’s a bit of a shitshow. They both manage to come down to the house for a long weekend, and they unload the boxes and shelves without too much trouble - not like either carry much with them, even now."

When Neil and Andrew buy their first house together, it’s a bit of a shitshow. 

They both manage to come down to the house for a long weekend, and they unload the boxes and shelves without too much trouble - not like either carry much with them, even now.

They sleep on a mattress in their soon-to-be bedroom and laugh and laugh (or Neil laughs and Andrew’s face twitches, which is basically a laugh for him) as they cheers to being together and watch the cats sniff around their new home.

But Andrew has to go back to Denver on the Monday morning - he rolls over and pulls Neil tight and kisses the space between his shoulder blades, quietly wishing he didn’t have to go, even briefly.

He’ll be back, it’s only three weeks. 

His asshole coach just won’t let him out of his contract early despite the end to their playing season.

Neil is soft and rumpled in the morning light - hair lightened by the sun, freckles clear against his warm, gold skin. 

Andrew would keep him close as long as possible. Neil doesn’t stir for a few minutes, waking with a cattish yawn and stretch before burrowing closer to Andrew.

The sound is all Neil and it makes Andrew’s chest feel warm and tight and he’s beyond hate for this _feeling._

He despises leaving even more. 

His head is full of warm smiles. His skin remembers warm hands and warmer kisses. His throat will wear the marks on it until he next sees Neil. It’s not enough. 

But it’ll have to do for now.

*

Neil - of course - should not be allowed to manage a house on his own. 

Free of the exy season, he’s determined to make the house a home by the time Andrew comes back. 

It does not end well.

Day 1, he forgets to shut the catflap and the cats escape into the garden, with Neil spending hours panicking over them. 

Day 2, the sofa arrives. Neil mismeasured the doorway and it doesn’t fit. Day 3, the wall Neil’s painting is too tall for him, even standing on a chair.

Matt and Dan come to the rescue the first weekend. 

Neil is frazzled and apparently refuses to call Andrew _because he knows he’ll hear the panic in his voice and that’ll make things harder for Andrew being away and that’s not fair to either of them because it’s already shit and—_

Matt gives Neil the biggest hug and paints the sodding wall that Neil can’t reach - and then the other walls that need touch ups too. 

Dan remeasures the door and helps Neil find a sofa. It’ll be delivered ‘soon’, which apparently means three to eight weeks.

“It can’t come for when Andrew’s back?” 

“Sorry sweetie,” Dan strokes his hair that night, after they’ve eaten takeout on the living room floor with paper plates. “But it won’t be long.”

They help him with the dining room, this at least isn’t too hard. 

Andrew had found an antique table and some white painted chairs - the whole thing looks okay. 

One room is okay, Neil thinks. That’s good.

The kitchen, Neil really doesn’t get. He enlists Nicky over the phone and ends up with multicoloured dishes from anthropology and a myriad of utensils that he’s fairly certain started life as torture devices. 

Nicky does let Erik guide him through pots and pans and such. “You’ve seriously only got a wok? Really?” 

Neil shrugs. It cooks everything he knows how to cook - which is basically dahl or stirfry. He doesn’t get why this is such a big deal.

Job ticked, he asks Allison about decor and she just howls. 

“Don’t even try, babe,” she says, “Wait for Andrew - he at least has style, if nothing else.” 

But she sees his dejected expression over FaceTime and sighs. 

“Fine, I’ll be there Saturday.”

So Saturday happens and Allison does things to Neil’s living room that should be illegal - but at least it looks, kinda nice? 

“Kinda? It looks modern af, and your boyfriend will love it.” 

It’s minimal and bright and she’s overexposed one wall where she’s hung a dozen photos.

“It’s a feature wall,” she says. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Neil tries not to take it to heart - but this house isn’t for him right now, it’s for Andrew and he wants to make sure it’s okay for *them*, together. 

“Does it feel like us?” He asks the cats when Allison is gone. 

King offers a slow blink. Sir licks her bits and walks away.

*

End of week two, Neil speaks to Andrew, falls asleep on the phone to him after sending every photo of every room to him. 

Before he drifts off, Andrew says he likes it. Maybe they can colour code the bookcase when he’s back. 

Neil likes the idea of doing something together.

*

Still - no bed frame, no sofa - things feel cosmetic. 

Neil manages to get a frame but can’t put it together. He stares hopelessly after a few hours, ikea DIY beyond him. 

The cats escape again. This time, no sign of King for a whole day, but she comes home for dinner.

The plumbing goes a bit weird - pressure doing weird things so he bleeds the radiators, which sprays water all over his new walls. 

Then the boiler goes. Something to do with the flue.

It’s cold and Neil hates the cold - reminds him too much of being alone and on the run and homeless (and there’s a reason he ended up in Millport where it was too hot most of the time).

He calls Andrew and tries not to sound too awful but Andrew hears the stress there. 

“Don’t run, rabbit. I’m nearly home.” 

“I know, I know, I’m not thinking of running. I just…” _miss you_ , he doesn’t say.

Andrew still hears him. “Me too,” he says. 

And they breathe together.

Kevin, weirdly, is the one who comes to fix Neil’s boiler. Apparently he had a similar problem and he brings Jeremy Knox with him. 

“Dad was a plumber,” Knox explains. “Well, was before he started his own company and grew it - but he made sure we all knew how to fix a boiler.”

So the boiler is fixed and Kevin helps Neil with the bed - and Jean oversees with a scornful little tip of his chin. 

At lunchtime, Jean makes a veritable French feast - all cheeses and meats and colourful treats. 

Neil feels looked after and strangely fond of the thruple.

“Don’t ruin it by being grateful,” Jean warns him. “Kevin will bring it up for years if you say thank you.” 

So Neil smiles and eats and stays quiet.

Jeremy warns him that the fix isn’t permanent - they’ll need a new boiler sooner rather than later but this should tide them over. Neil doesn’t care - at least Andrew can come home and have a hot shower. At least *he* can have a hot shower tonight.

*

Andrew comes home a day early - he told his coach he was going and was gone. 

He walks in to find Neil curled up on the worst chaise he’s ever seen - clearly a donation to help them get from now to sofa. 

But Neil is beautiful.

The cats are curled close to him. The afternoon sun pale and bright. 

He wakes Neil with a kiss to his forehead, another to his nose. 

“Honey,” he says with a stupid twitch of his lips, “I’m home.”

**The End**


	6. The Animal Whisperer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil Josten is an animal whisperer. Andrew Minyard is a vet at the Foxhole Shelter, a recovery space for exotic animals that have been mistreated as pets. 
> 
> "They say that magic isn’t dead- that you can see fairy in the dancers whose leaps seem like flight, glimpse dryads in those who are never lost, spot nymphs in those who dive deeper and faster without fear or hesitation. It’s why some say Neil Josten isn’t completely human - that he has an uncanny knack, an unseelie gift."

They say that magic isn’t dead- that you can see fairy in the dancers whose leaps seem like flight, glimpse dryads in those who are never lost, spot nymphs in those who dive deeper and faster without fear or hesitation.

Magic isn’t dead - it’s diluted. 

It’s why some people are drawn to lonely places, old places. 

It’s why the full moon calls to people who look up. 

It’s why some say Neil Josten isn’t completely human - that he has an uncanny knack, an unseelie gift.

The way he helps animals, after all, can be nothing but magic. No one can sooth a horse like him, help a beaten dog back on its paws, understand why a cat is so anxious or why wild animals keep ruining your flowerbeds.

For the Foxhole Sanctuary, a wild life sanctuary run by David Wymack, the arrival of this strange boy is a boon. Starting as a recovery centre for injured animals found on the roads, it quickly became a place where people dropped off abused and broken ‘exotic’ pets.

There are fennec foxes and savannah cats, caracals and toucans, sugar gliders and wolf dogs, a collection of hedgehogs and chinchillas, snakes upon snakes. There’s a tiger that some asshole declawed and a family of rejected monkeys from the nearby zoo.

Doesn’t matter what the animal is, Neil whispers to all of them and they apparently whisper back.

No one knows where Neil came from - one day he was just there, knelt down by one of the sick foxes, making strange little crooning noises that the fox nosed up to almost instantly. 

And after that he stayed.

When the other workers of the Foxhole asked, Wymack shrugged and said they had an understanding. 

The boy would stay until he needed to go. 

He always seemed to need to go. He was edgy and strange - uncomfortable around humans and skittish as some of the animals.

When Matt and Dan tried to befriend him, their overtures were met with sharp words and a sharp grin and a twitchy, nervous Neil for the rest of the day. Later that night they would talk about it - would agree that they needed to help Neil, if only he’d let them.

Not everyone was so easy to appease. And the wild animals weren’t the only beasts at the Foxhole.

Andrew Minyard is a veterinarian by training and a specialist in rehabilitation. 

He’s often found in pools helping animals to get their strength back up, making sure that wild animals remember how to be wild. 

He doesn’t trust Neil Josten.

He doesn’t like how the stranger just wove his way into the fabric of the Foxhole. He doesn’t like that he speaks on behalf of animals. He doesn’t like that no one seems to challenge him, or doubt him, or question him.

Consent is everything to Andrew and he’s wary of anyone who claims to know what an animal is trying to say. He knows how animals express “yes” and “no”, aversion - attraction, fight, flee, freeze, fawn, collapse, submit - that they can make informed choices. 

But Neil Josten’s way of working seems to circle around that - soothing them into submission, nudging them into affection, coaxing them into agreement. 

It doesn’t sit well with Andrew. So he watches. Tries to understand.

Neil and Andrew clash like two ibexes - stubborn and furious and crown with their own horns. Their dislike of each other cools every room, crushes every laugh or smile. Only the animals seem immune - sensing that these humans are looking out for them in their own way.

It’s the small moments that slowly ease Andrew’s misgivings.

There’s the time with an ocelot where he finds Neil sat, cooing about, “what pretty eyes you have, and what magnificent paws, so good for trees right? Do you like trees? Me too. Shall we hang upside down together?”

And they do. Neil and the ocelot clamber up a tree and dangle together.

Neil is not a good climber - he’s graceless and ridiculous, his hair a wild tangle of red around his face and getting stuck in his mouth. His face goes pink when he lets his arms hang about his head.

The ocelot looks… concerned? Playful? 

“Yeah yeah you’re a natural, no need to judge,” says Neil. 

But this is a cat who refused to climb until recently and it’s the first time Andrew has seen her try to act like ocelots naturally do.

There’s another time with an old dog that they just can’t help. Andrew is alone with Neil and as he has to put the sad, broken creature to sleep, Neil strokes its ragged ears and gentles it into rest. There’s heartbreak in Neil’s eyes and the usual heaviness in Andrew - he begins to see that maybe Neil isn’t so terrible and untrustworthy after all.

There’s not a single moment where the world shifts. 

Like coaxing a wild animal, it’s gradual, slow. They learn to work around each other and accept each other and finally, Andrew realises, he’s choosing Neil first for any case where he’s relevant. 

Not Renee or Abby or Kevin, always Neil.

But Neil still has secrets, still has a nervous habit of looking over his shoulder, still shrinks when Wymack gets too close.

Andrew asks him about it one evening when they’re locking up. 

They do this sometimes - share truths the way honey badgers and honeyguides share their hunt (Andrew likes to think of himself as the vicious badger in this metaphor, obviously). Neil’s eyes are blue and frozen.

“Why are you asking now?” Neil asks. “Do you still want me to leave?" 

Andrew doesn’t know how to answer that. "You’re always looking over your shoulder,” he starts. “The animals act like they want to keep you as some kind of hatchling, a cub to protect. If it’s going to endanger you…”

“What? You’ll try to protect me too?” Neil smiles but it’s sad. “You can’t protect me, Andrew. It’s all up here." 

Andrew understands. His ghosts haunt the grey matter of his brain too.

"Stay, you don’t have to be Bambi." 

"I relate more to rabbits actually." 

"Of course you fucking do,” says Andrew. “But you’re not one. You have far sharper teeth. You’re a fox." 

Neil’s smile is just a bit brighter when he disappears into the dark.

*

Andrew has scars on his arms and scars on his thighs and scars where no one can see them. Sometimes a warm muzzle or a soft ear will press against his chest and he imagines the animals he works with can feel those scars beneath his skin, hidden inside his ribs.

Neil is the same. 

His hands, his face, his arms, his shoulders, his chest and back - there are scars there that he doesn’t (can’t) hide. But the worst are those the wild cats try to knead away, that the mice try to fix, the dogs try to love, the foxes chitter and paw at.

*

There’s a pregnant fennec and that’s the first time Neil and Andrew’s hand brush.

There’s a beaten kinkajou and that’s the first time Neil and Andrew fall asleep on the same sofa at work.

There’s a slow lorris that won’t detach from Neil’s head and that’s the first time Andrew smiles at Neil.

*

Over time Matt and Dan manage to persuade Neil to come for dinner. Later, they invite themselves to his flat - it’s kind of shitty and empty and they end up doing a drive for furniture. 

Andrew visits during the official house warming. He ends up sleeping on the new couch.

*

Photos go up on walls at work and slowly Neil’s face is as frequent as everyone else’s. 

Andrew’s favourite is of him finally coaxing the slow lorris to let got of Neil’s hair - because Neil is looking at them both like they’ve hung the moon.

*

Andrew isn’t sure when it happened, but Wymack makes a comment about how Neil’s whispering magic works on humans as much as animals. 

_It’s true_ \- he guesses - _the whole team is more of a team now._

But the lesson isn’t that Neil is magic. That he’s fae or fiction or false. It’s that Neil lets animals in - he listens to them by opening himself up to them. And finally he’s doing that with them - the humans of the Foxhole - as well. 

Andrew feels a painful thrum of warmth - he’s been rehabilitating Neil, they all have. 

But he never asked permission. 

Guilt, hot and aching, wrecks through his chest. He has to speak to Neil. But doing so also throws into light a thousand other feelings he’s been trying so hard to ignore.

He’s not surprised when Neil’s face goes blank when he explains what’s happened. 

He is surprised when Neil’s mouth tips downwards. 

He is downright stunned when Neil says, "So we’re not courting?”

“What?” It’s Andrew’s turn to be frozen. 

“Matt and Dan told me that’s what we were doing. I told them it was nonsense but then I guess a lot of it has been similar to the mating rituals of various mammals –”

“Neil, we’ve not been courting. And who calls it courting?”

“Matt and Dan did, when I told them I hadn’t kissed you yet." 

Andrew’s eyes grow wide. 

"I would quite like to kiss you though, I think,” says Neil. 

“You think,” says Andrew. 

“Well I’ve only done it twice before and I didn’t really want to kiss them. But it would be nice to kiss you, I think.”

Andrew looks at this man - this ridiculous, skittish, useless, impossible, brilliant, man - and steps a little closer. 

He lifts his hand, holds Neil’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Yes or no, Neil? To me kissing you." 

Neil frowns. "So we were courting?”

“We can court from now,” Andrew says. 

“Then yes." 

And Andrew closes the gap until the only whispers are those in their chests.

The kiss tastes a lot like magic. 

**-The end-**


	7. The Red Swan AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Swan Princess - Andrew Minyard watches birds because it's all he has of his one time friend, Neil. And then he hears the rumour of the Red Swan, and he knows he has to find it. 
> 
> "Sunrise, Abram, death. These were truths to Andrew Minyard - and he hated it. As nothing but a kitchenhand, he never should have met the Wesninski heir, let alone spoken to him. Yet somehow it had happened."

Sunrise, Abram, death. These were truths to Andrew Minyard - and he hated it.

As nothing but a kitchenhand, he never should have met the Wesninski heir, let alone spoken to him.

Yet somehow it had happened.

It had been a peony-blush morning, the sky pink and orange and soft as feathers. The boy he met, hiding in the garden to watch birds, looked like a dream. But he was the realest person Andrew ever met.

Andrew never understood the fascination with birds until Nathaniel - Neil, he’d insisted, just Neil - gave them to him. He pointed out their different songs, their mannerisms, the shades of their feathers and what they meant. His enthusiasm was intoxicating, addictive.

When lunch time came and went, the two of them had still been there. Whispering. Watching. Wondering. Eventually though, Neil’s stomach rumbled and he turned to Andrew, all rue.

That was when Andrew saw it: how that slender throat was shades of black, green, yellow, red.

There was nothing either could do - they were boys, Neil’s voice still unbroken.

But for years, Neil would find Andrew in the garden. They’d watch the birds, tend to the bruises and burns and scrapes, talk. They gave each other truths, pieces of light.

Sunrise, Abram, death.

They were friends.

Right up until Neil disappeared.

It had been four years since Neil vanished.

Four years in which Wesninski’s power waned and the Moriyamas moved in on the territory.

Four years since Andrew was introduced to his twin and cousin.

Four years that dragged like centuries, purposeless.

Except for the birds.

Andrew had nothing of Neil - but he kept watching birds, imagining Neil’s voice telling him stories of how birds found their voices or mastered their plumage.

That was, of course, how he ended up here.

Not lost but… in a forest that all blurred into all looking the same about three hours ago.

Going so deep into the forest was always going to be risky.

Stories of rare birds made it worth it.

There’s one in particular that he’s looking for - one that’s russet red with wings lined gold.

Some call it a phoenix. Some a red swan.

Andrew just wants to see it because Neil would have wanted to see it. And maybe because something so impossible might make it easier to hope Neil is alive.

The woods are ancient, dark and deep.

The trees curl overhead, heavy with only a slice of sun spilling through the crown shyness high above.

The light is green and heavy, motes catch like fireflies in the air.

Everywhere is bird song, effervescent and constant.

There are songs for food, songs for greeting, songs for love.

Andrew listens.

There isn’t a single song that he doesn’t recognise from the hours in the garden with Neil.

Now Andrew knows he’s chasing impossibilities - the stories are probably just stories, tall tales for kitchen boys to believe in when the rest of their world is so grey. But Neil gave him wonder, gave him something beautiful, gave him truths even when they were dark with grief.

Onwards: he clambers over fallen trees, wades through creeks, weaves between trees as if drawn on a string.

He should turn around.

He should climb high and try to find out where he is.

He keeps walking. Keeps watching.

And that’s how he stumbles across the lake - it’s bright with sunshine, skin wimpled by a breeze. It’s also iridescent - a thousand colours sparkle over its surface - never one shade but millions.

And there, swimming across it, is a bird the like he’s never seen before.

Smaller than a swan but curving its wings above its back just so, Andrew drinks this creature in. The feathers are metallic, amber-red over the head and crest. Belly white. Chest dark-red. Narrow black stripes ring its neck. The wings are patterned gold and bronze.

Phoenix, some had said.

A red swan, said others.

Pipe dream, thinks Andrew. Impossible.

But it’s not a hallucination. Throughout the day Andrew watches this rare, strange, bird lilt back and forth over the lake. Despite its colouring, it looks forlorn, desolate.

Andrew watches. When night falls, the bird tucks its head under its wing and sleeps.

Andrew lingers a little longer. Then he digs out a piece of magic from his cousin, a small orb of light, and heads home under a moonless, star-filled sky.

Back at the manor, things are grim. With no heir and no wife, Wesninski has no way of sealing the deal he made with the Moriyamas - to whom he’d pledged his only son as a ‘gift’ and show of fealty. The house is under watch. Tense. Angry.

Aaron is there when Andrew slides into the kitchens - warming his hands by the hearth and he accepts the blanket when Aaron offers it.

“Did you find your beast?”

“Yes.”

“Wait really?” Aaron sits beside him. “It’s really a phoenix?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Beautiful, Andrew thinks. Hallucination, impossible, true.

“I have no idea,” he says. “But let’s hope no one else finds it - a rarity like that, you know Wesninski would want to butcher it himself.”

Too late for hopes though.

Wesninski already knows.

And he wants to capture this bird.

He plans to capture and present it to the Moriyamas - a gift and show of apology.

He plans to do so in a ceremony to officially declare his son dead.

Riko Moriyama has pledged to help him. Nathan smirks at that - the little raven boy harbours some silly hope that such a find might earn him some attention from Kengo and Ichirou. Nonsense, but if it gets him the bird faster, Nathan won’t complain.

Nathan makes the declaration the next morning.

Andrew hears about it just after noon.

It doesn’t matter that he’s meant to be prepping in the kitchen, he can’t let them kill that bird.

Because that bird is beautiful and wild and deserves to live.

Because - to Andrew - that bird is Neil’s bird and holds the hope that one day they’ll see each other again.

So he runs.

He leaps the fallen trees and sprints the creeks and flies through the forest on feet that he didn’t know could move so fast.

He feels possessed.

He reaches the lake.

He sees the bird.

He darts towards it. It turns to him, startled, snapping.

“Run, fly, go.” Andrew tries to make the red-gold bird take wing. “You have to go.”

It flaps its wings, snaps at him, pauses. Around the black of its eye is a ring of sky blue. It seems to be staring right into him.

“Go, you have to go,” Andrew says. “People are coming. Fly.”

Wings - huge and gold - sweep out from the bird’s body. It glides close to Andrew, close enough to brush his arm with its feathered crown. And then it’s gone, soaring upwards, away, a flash of red and gold and –

  * \- there’s the crack of an arrow striking the bird’s wing.



A terrible scream fills the air as the animal, which moments before was so majestic, falls towards the earth. It crashes, flapping, screaming, into the lake.

No.

No no no no no.

But yes, Wesninski and the Moriyama’s second son are on the other side of the lake and Andrew feels their death in his hands.

Like how he ran, what happens next feels like someone else was in control of Andrew’s body.

He feels anger. He feels his heart cracking. He feels Riko’s nose breaking under his fist, and then his cheekbone, and then his jaw.

When hands grab at him, he’s rabid.

There’s an arrow in his leg, there’s a knife-wound deep across his chest, there’s pain in every inch of his body.

Nothing stops him.

He destroys everyone who stands close to him - until all that’s left is Wesninski. Death on his pale horse.

“Who the hell are you, little monster?” Nathan asks, he sounds intrigued rather than concerned. “It looks like you should be part of my court.”

Andrew scoffs.

He knows Lola and Romero, DiMaccio with his ever-watching eyes.

Andrew’s hands are red. His skin is smeared with blood.

But he will never do the things Wesninski’s men do to others.

“Where is Nathaniel?” Andrew finds himself asking. “Did you kill him? Is he dead?”

Nathan’s mouth curves in a rictus grin. “Oh. OH. Is that what this is about? My useless, pathetic son? He’s dead.”

No. “What did you do to him?”

“I did nothing. His mother took him with her.”

Andrew knows what that means. They found Mary in the river, her face battered in, her body bloated and green. Nathan is saying Neil went into the water with her. That he’s somewhere downstream. Lost.

He stares at Nathan. The fire in his chest where his heart used to be is burning out. There’s only ashes and embers left.

Aaron is the one that saves Andrew from Nathan. Following on his brother’s heels, he fires an arrow from his own quiver and strikes Wesninski in the throat.

Andrew can’t move.

He doesn’t react when Aaron pulls him back into the lake, when he washes away the blood, cleans his wounds.

Doesn’t react to being dragged onto the bank to dry.

Doesn’t react to anything until he hears a song that he’s never heard before.

He turns his head.

The red swan is singing.

It’s low and mournful and Andrew knows it is dying.

He staggers through the reeds to find where the bird is hiding, nursing its wing, singing so sadly.

There in the rushes, he find it.

Kneeling down beside his impossible bird, he strokes gentle fingers over the feathers and the crest, over red and amber and bronze and black.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Because he wasn’t enough, just like he wasn’t enough for Neil.

It’s there as the swan sings its last and dies, that the air fills with a new sound.

The beating of a hundred wings.

Aaron gasps behind Andrew. Andrew looks up.

Every bird swarms above them - from the tiniest finches to the colourful waxwings and blue jays.

Amongst them are a handful more red swans. They lack the gold on their wings but they’re there. They exist. They still fly like a miracle waiting to happen.

Aaron grabs Andrew’s wrist as the birds grow closer, closer. They’re in a tornado of birds - all feathers and wings and the smell of the wild. The twins clutch tight and Andrew feels himself lifting off the earth and there’s no sense of time or space or distance, just wings.

One minute they’re in a maelstrom.

The next silence.

Quiet.

Stillness.

At the top of a mountain overlooking the forest, Andrew and Aaron find themselves alone.

Almost.

Sleeping in an alcove full of grass and furs and flowers and feathers is a man.

His skin isn’t bruised. His face isn’t pinched in pain.

“Abram.” Andrew says. “Neil.”

The sleeping man stirs at his name.

Blue eyes blink open. A smile breaks over the familiar face.

“N'drew,” Neil whispers, voice foggy with sleep but so familiar. “You found me.”

The sunrise sounds like swansong as Andrew steps forward.

**The end.**


	8. Morning Fuc*offee - A Coffeeshop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Andrew Minyard likes his routine - wake up, walk to Fuc*offee, side eye the barista, do some work, go home, drink, sleep. He’s been doing this for months - the barista is good looking and easy to annoy, he’s deft with his hands and safe to look at from a distance.
> 
> He’s not happy with life but he’s fine with this - it gets him by for now. 
> 
> Which is why he’s so irate when a new guy starts to do the same."

Andrew Minyard likes his routine - wake up, walk to Fuc*offee, side eye the barista, do some work, go home, drink, sleep.

He’s been doing this for months - the barista is good looking and easy to annoy, he’s deft with his hands and safe to look at from a distance.

He’s not happy with life but he’s fine with this - it gets him by for now.

Which is why he’s so irate when a new guy starts to do the same.

New Guy is short and chatty and a tad twitchy. He has the bluest eyes Andrew has ever seen - like the water of Bishop’s glacier lake - absolutely crystalline. But they keep flicking behind him, to the exits, like he’s waiting for danger to find him.

He talks to Andrew’s barista.

He brings in fucking baked goods.

He made Barista Boy smile.

What actual fuckery is this?

Andrew stews and simmers, furious and not a little envious.

It’s easier for other people, he knows that, because Andrew isn’t normal or whole. He’s broken and will spend a life time trying to paper over the cracks left behind.

Fortunately, hating Blue Eyes comes easily to Andrew. He’s well versed in this emotion and applies it liberally to his almost-non-existent interactions with Blue Eyes.

Blue Eyes doesn’t take the hint.

When he passes Andrew he starts to smile, it looks shaky, like he hasn’t practiced the expression much.

Perhaps he hasn’t - there are thin scars over his cheeks, old but definitely once deep and impossibly neat. They’d been inflicted on this man.

Andrew hates him even more.

Blue Eyes has red hair like autumn leaves, like maybe it was auburn but he spent too much time in outside and the sun kissed it amber. He has freckles like constellations across the tan of his skin and when he passes Andrew’s table, there’s the scent of fresh bread and pastry.

No wonder then that Barista Boy has started looking back at Blue Eyes.

No wonder Andrew has become a pale shadow at the sideline of their story.

Andrew decides to fuck routine.

For a week he gives Fuc*offee a miss. He tries other places: there’s no where quite as good though.

On the eighth day, he caves. He wants a good, sweet coffee with plenty of cream. The coffee Barista Boy makes so reluctantly.

He steps into the shop, orders.

Barista Boy actually smiles. “Been on holiday?”

It breaks their no speaking bar ordering rule but Andrew lifts one shoulder and drops it again. “Something like that.”

Interesting that he noticed.

Blue Eyes arrives at his usual time - windswept and breathtaking. His impossible gaze falls on Andrew and he beams. Smile wide and real.

Andrew’s chest is a vice. His stomach fills with iron filings that clip and snatch at his insides.

“You’re back,” says Blue Eyes. “Kevin must be delighted.”

Andrew blinks at him. Kevin. The name of the barista that he refuses to remember.

Blue Eyes waves at Kevin and the man rolls his eyes.

Blue Eyes sits, uninvited, at Andrew’s table.

“I’m Neil, by the way. I run the new bakery over the street.”

 _Right_. The one that now supplies the baked everything to Fuc*offee.

 _Clearly sleeping with the barista was an added bonus to the business transaction_. Andrew shakes himself - that’s a cruel thought and Bee would scold him for passing judgement like that. Still, he feels bitter and annoyed.

He doesn’t have pastries for Kevin. And there’s no way Andrew’s eeked out living as a poet is going to get him in anyone’s pants.

 _Was that even what he wanted though?_ He could - and had - found plenty of one night only hookups in the past. It wasn’t enough. He never…

He’s aware of Blue Eyes - Neil - sitting opposite, reading a book.

He lifts his pen to write, pauses, waits for Neil to be an unwarranted distraction. He doesn’t.

There’s a shift after that - Neil often sitting with Andrew when they come in together and have time.

Andrew will scribble.

Neil will read.

There’s a certain companionship that Andrew doesn’t let himself dwell on. Neil goes back to his bakery just before midday for the afternoon shift and Andrew packs up just after lunch to go home.

Andrew likes this.

Not that he’d admit it.

But the highlight of his day isn’t ordering his coffee anymore.

It’s the moments after - when he and Neil sit together, knees just brushing, occasionally interrupted by a huff of poetic frustration or an exclamation at a plot twist.

So much so, that when Barista Boy turns out to have not just one but two really rather stunning partners - a surly Frenchman and a man with a smile like sunshine - Andrew doesn’t really feel… anything at all.

Neil’s enthusiastic introduction to Jean and Jeremy is almost over the top.

Turns out Jean has been helping with the French pastries at his bakery.

Turns out Jeremy is way too nice for his own good and has helped to PR the two shops, which is why they’re increasingly busy. He also works with Nicky - Andrew realises - or at least for the same company.

Andrew should probably touch base with his cousin, it’s been a while.

Still, even though Barista Boy is taken, Andrew comes to Fuc*offee and spends time with Neil.

And Neil is… increasingly distracting just because he exists.

It’s the autumn shade of his hair, the freckles that Andrew wants to map, the fresh blue of his eyes.

It’s his smile that comes easier now, at least when he’s looking at Andrew.

So really it shouldn’t have been a surprise that when Neil swept in one day with a flurry of snowflakes and nose pinked by the cold, Andrew’s breath snatched away like birds had swooped off with his lungs.

Andrew has a new problem.

And this time it’s not safe. It’s not at a distance.

There isn’t a coffee bar between him and Neil. There isn’t a careful balance of customer and barista. There’s nothing but paper and conversation, a scant few centimetres of table.

He spends the whole morning unable to write.

His only thought is: _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

Right up until the moment that Neil reaches over, almost absently, and puts his hand carefully against Andrew’s, palm up.

An offering.

Blue eyes flick up, “You’re pushing yourself too hard today. Just relax a moment.”

So Andrew puts down his pen.

Lifts his fingers so they hover over Neil’s.

“Yes or no?” he asks.

Neil’s smile is the widest yes he could give.

**-The End-**


	9. Camisado - An Emo Alternative Meeting AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew and Neil meet in a chat room age 13. 
> 
> Andrew’s handle is @/phantom!attheopera. 
> 
> Neil’s is @/isayshotgun 
> 
> It's a friendship born on the internet and driven by a mutual love of emo music. An alternative meeting, friends to lovers AU.

Andrew and Neil meet in a chat room age 13. 

Andrew’s handle is @/phantom!attheopera 

Neil’s is @/isayshotgun 

Andrew initially hangs around because he finds it hilarious how Neil roasts people he likes and trolls people he doesn’t.

They also both have things in common - starting with but limited to their love of PATD and pretty much all emo music they can get their barely-teenage hands on. Andrew likes it a little heavier than Neil - but they both rave about Brendan Urie, Gerard Way and the Maddens.

They strike up a penpal style relationship - moving first from the chatroom to private messages, then the msn and email. 

They confide in each other. Neil moves around a lot because ‘my dad’s a bad man, he’s after me and my mom’. 

Andrew tells him about Cass and Drake.

> _isayshotgun_ : he shdnt do dat 2 u 
> 
> _phantom!attheopera_ : i know 
> 
> _isayshotgun_ : id get u out 
> 
> _phantom!attheopera_ : how 
> 
> _isayshotgun_ : im gd w/ knives 
> 
> _phantom!attheopera:_ maybe you can teach me. 
> 
> _phantom!attheopera_ : and I’ll teach you to spell, honestly. 
> 
> _isayshotgun_ : *eyeroll*

Neil doesn’t come to get Andrew because Aaron happens first. 

And then Andrew’s in juvie and playing exy and the only way he can stay in touch with Neil is email. He shouldn’t even be allowed email, but he’s willing to get on his knees to have computer access, access to Neil.

Something about email makes their friendship even deeper. 

Actually, Andrew’s fairly certain that he’s half way in love and that if they were different people they’d have already talked about this. Still, it’s because of email that he notices something is wrong with Neil.

His emails, which were long and rambling, have suddenly become short - no less full of feeling and affection, but syntactically different. 

He tries to ask about it. 

> From: phantom!attheopera 
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> Subject: _what’s wrong with you?_

Neil is cagey at first but Andrew gets it out of him in the end. 

> From: isayshotgun 
> 
> To: phantom!attheopera 
> 
> Re:Re:Re:Re:Subject: _what’s wrong with you?_
> 
> _Being shot really sucks. That’s all. N_

All Andrew wants to do then is cross the country, gather Neil close and keep him safe. They’re fifteen now and he’ll be leaving juvie next month. 

“Can you keep safe until then?” Andrew types. 

“U cant save me. We talked about this." Neil’s reply is not what he wants to read.

Andrew’s released to Tilda. He finds out his brother is hooked on painkillers and his birth mother is an abuser. 

> phantom!attheopera: she hits him. I need to stop her. 
> 
> isayshotgun: … … 
> 
> phantom!attheopera: what? 
> 
> isayshotgun: is that weird? for moms 2 hit u?
> 
> phantom!attheopera: your mom hits you too? 
> 
> isayshotgun: 2 teach me not 2 be stupid. 
> 
> isayshotgun: keepin me alive 
> 
> phantom!attheopera: that’s not how it works, no one hits you for your own good. that’s… 
> 
> phantom!attheopera: my therapist calls it emotional abuse and controlling behaviours.

Neil ends up sharing a lot more than he was probably initially intending - about the one time a girl kissed him and he couldn’t walk properly for a week; about the way his mom pinched him and made him recite their rules back; about how he wasn’t allowed to be sick, ever.

> phantom!attheopera: one of these days I’ll find you and we’ll run away together. We’ll go anywhere you want. Settle somewhere safe. 
> 
> isayshotgun: do u think ud like me irl? 
> 
> phantom!attheopera: well I can’t see your spelling if you’re talking 
> 
> isayshotgun: rofl lmao
> 
> Andrew tells Neil about Aaron. 
> 
> phantom!attheopera: he’s a total prick 
> 
> isayshotgun: hv u tried talkin 2 him about smthing easy? like exy? 
> 
> phantom!attheopera: just because you like stickball 
> 
> isayshotgun: no i mean maybe u need a bridge 2 talk. common grnd.
> 
> phantom!attheopera: …maybe

Neil is the one who gives him the idea about crashing the car with Tilda in it too. He sends Andrew all the instructions on a floppy disk that he posts to Andrew’s therapist. On the front of the disk, Neil has scrawled their usernames. Andrew smiles.

Their relationship is a strange one - they are always there on the other end of the computer to each other, but they’ve never swapped photos and never heard each other’s voices. 

When Andrew gets a phone, he asks Neil if he has one and Neil says no, only his mom has a burner.

Still Andrew gives Neil his number and on his birthday, November 4th, he gets a call from a Seattle phonebox. 

"Hey,” Neil says. Andrew can hear him shivering, the chatter in his teeth. 

“Happy Birthday, Drew." 

They talk and talk. It’s the best birthday Andrew’s ever had.

Right up until the gunfire.

Neil vanishes. 

There’s no emails. No MSN messages. No highly irritating nudges. He’s not in any of their usual chatrooms. 

Andrew doesn’t get another phone call.

Weeks go by. First one then another then another.

Andrew leaves messages. He sends emails. He really really hopes Neil isn’t dead.

Aaron and Andrew go to live with Nicky. 

They’re approached by The Ravens. Andrew turns down the infamous Riko Moriyama and his absurdly pretty Number 2, Kevin Day. 

David Wymack shows up. The deal extends to Aaron and Nicky if he wants it. Andrew says yes.

Sometimes Andrew thinks about Neil and tries to make an effort with Aaron, but Aaron is angry and a recovering addict and nothing Andrew says or does is ever enough. He still tries. 

> From: phantom!attheopera
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> _Subject: 9 ways I’m trying to befriend my twin  
>  _
> 
> From: phantom!attheopera
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> _Re: Subject: make that 11 ways_
> 
> From: phantom!attheopera
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> _Re:Re:Re: Subject: none of these are working_
> 
> From: phantom!attheopera 
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> _Re:Re:Re:Re:Re: Subject: you’d hate him too_
> 
> From: phantom!attheopera
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> _Re:Re:Re:Re:Re:Re:Re:Re: Subject: ok fine, I don’t hate him_
> 
> From: phantom!attheopera
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> _Subject: Happy New Year_
> 
> From: phantom!attheopera
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> _Re: Subject: And Happy Birthday I guess_
> 
> From: phantom!attheopera
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> _Subject: I miss you_
> 
> From: phantom!attheopera
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> _Re: Subject: I still miss you_
> 
> From: phantom!attheopera
> 
> To: isayshotgun 
> 
> _Subject: Panic! are play in Columbia next month !!!_
> 
> From: isayshotgun 
> 
> To: phantom!attheopera
> 
> _Re: Subject: Panic! are play in Columbia next month !!!_
> 
> _got u a ticket c u there @ 7pm_

Andrew blinks. He stares at his inbox. The 1 new message. Neil’s username. Neil is alive. Neil is coming to Columbia. Neil is coming to a Panic! At The Disco gig. He bashes out a hasty message. 

> phantom!attheopera: Are you serious? 
> 
> isayshotgun: yeh

The month vanishes under Andrew’s feet. He’s nervous. He’s excited. Nicky is exuberant. 

"My cousin has a date!" 

"Not a date, Nicky." 

Nicky just slides a knowing look his way and when Andrew takes the car keys, tells him to drive safe and stay out of fights. Andrew scoffs.

They haven’t been talking much, Neil and Andrew. 

But Neil promised that Andrew wouldn’t be able to miss him. 

Neil was telling the truth. He’s standing there, a too-skinny teenager with badly cut hair flopping into his eyes, with a giant sign saying "phantom!attheopera”.

Approaching, Andrew sees that Neil is gaunt, there’s shadows under his eyes, which are blue as the sky on a clear, cold day. 

“You ready to scream your crooked heart out?” Andrew asks. 

Neil looks up with a slow smile. It wobbles as if his face is out of practice. 

“Hey." 

"Hi.”

They will - in fact - scream their crooked hearts out that night. They will hold each other upright and throw themselves through the mosh pit, feeling the press of elation and anger and frustration and hope. Neil will trip a stranger who gets too close for Andrew’s comfort. Andrew will deliberately spill a drink over a girl who won’t stop eyeballing Neil with hearts in her eyes. 

“My hero,” Neil laughs. His laugh is rusty too. 

Andrew wants to hear it again and again. He wants to hear it every fucking day for the rest of his stupid emo life.

When the music fades and the crowds disperse, Andrew and Neil are left in the carpark, sitting on the bonnet of Andrew’s car. 

He asks Neil where he’s going tonight. 

Neil shrugs. 

He asks Neil if his mom is nearby but he already knows the answer. Mary Hatford is dead.

They don’t leave for hours. Neil explains everything that night - who his dad is, what he’s running from. Andrew doesn’t care. 

When they’re both cold, they sit in the car and turn the heating up. Andrew offers his hand to Neil and Neil curls their fingers together.

Neil is tired. Neil is so so so tired. 

“Come home with me.” Andrew says. “Stay." 

Neil slumps against the seats, his head tilted so Andrew can see every sharp angle of his face. There’s no fight, no bargaining. 

Just a sweet, fluttering feeling neither of them know to call hope.

**-The end.-**


	10. The Seelie AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh,” Aaron says. “We always wondered which of us would get it." 
> 
> "Get what Aaron? What are you talking about? You know what’s wrong with him?" 
> 
> In which Neil wakes up to find Andrew is sick - only he's not sick. He's coming into his inheritance as one of the fae.

Neil waking up next to Andrew, all soft and rumpled and pillow-faced. He’s blinking open his eyes but when he sees Andrew his morning smile falls.

Andrew is *not well*. He’s sweating and shaking. Something is clearly wrong. 

Neil tries to wake him up but can’t.

Andrew is burning hot and Neil is one step away from calling the hospital but he calls Aaron first. 

“Oh,” Aaron says. “We always wondered which of us would get it." 

"Get what Aaron? What are you talking about? You know what’s wrong with him?" 

There’s silence down the phone. Then: "I’ll be there in an hour. Don’t take him anywhere. Don’t tell anyone else." 

The line goes dead. 

All Neil can do is try to find all the icepacks they keep in the freezer to try and bring down Andrew’s temperature. The ice melts within minutes of touching Andrew’s skin.

Aaron arrives. He takes one look at Andrew and sighs. 

"Don’t know whether to be glad I won the bet or furious that he didn’t tell me he was experiencing any changes." 

_Bet? Changes?_ Neil doesn’t understand at all. 

"Don’t take it personally, we had a deal not to tell anyone.”

_These Twinyards and their deals._

Neil sits on the bed, takes Andrew’s hand tentatively in his own. “He’s burning up, Aaron." 

"He should be. He’s inheriting a thousand years worth of seelie magic." 

"Seelie. Magic." 

"He thought it’d be me, since I’m already aerona.”

Aaron is so flat faced and unconcerned, Neil wants to punch him. He tells Aaron to explain. 

"It was a gift - an apology.“ Aaron sighs again. "I should not be the one giving you this talk, but okay. Let’s do this." 

He starts to retell their story - starting with their birth. 

Tilda gave birth to twins and was initially annoyed but okay with it - until one of them was taken by the fey. For three days and three nights one of the Minyard twins was away in faerie. On the fourth night, a will o’ the wisp returned him, swaddled in leaves and starlight.

The creature apologised to Tilda. 

"We did not know he was already one of ours. As penance, we have granted him a true inheritance - before he is 21, he will be blessed with the Olde Magic that would otherwise have slept in his blood.”

 _“Take him back. Take him back. I’ll drown him. I’ll drown him.”_ Tilda screamed. 

The creature saw she was serious and blurred her memory, believing she wouldn’t kill both sons. 

“That’s why she tried to give us both up,” said Aaron. “But then she decided to come back for me.”

“She knew you weren’t the changeling?" 

"No. She just guessed lucky.” Aaron picked at his nails, clearly struggling not to reach out to reassure himself of Andrew’s presence. “It was foolish of her. We both have the blood. It’s why I see and understand illness, the way I do.”

“So what… what is this? This is the inheritance? What happens now? Will he change? What will happen to Andrew?" 

Aaron shrugged. They didn’t know. They’d tried summoning fey before, finding faerie circles and asking about it. Nothing worked. "I don’t think it’ll kill him.”

“You don’t _think_.” Neil’s heart clenches. He wonders if this is how Andrew felt that day after the riot when he went missing. Like there’s a knot in his chest and if he cuts it open, he’ll die, but if he leaves it as is, he’ll choke. 

“Don’t panic on me, Josten.” For the first time ever Aaron looks like something other than annoyed at Neil - he looks sympathetic. "We knew this would happen to one of us. We know it’s meant to be a blessing. He’ll be ok.”

For three days and three nights, Andrew doesn’t wake up. His eyes move behind his lids, as if dreaming. But he makes no noise. Doesn’t stir. His temperature spikes on the second day and cools on the third. Andrew always ran hot, he’s nearly his usual warmth when he wakes up.

Andrew looks for Neil first, his hand lifting towards Neil almost instantly. Desperate for him. 

Neil takes the offered hand, his eyes wide and scouring every inch of Andrew’s face. 

He’s still Andrew, still achingly familiar. But there’s something sharper to him now - his skin is inhumanly perfect, his jaw and cheek bones just a little more cut, and his eyes… his eyes are gold and bronze, bright like sunlight slanting through autumn trees. 

“Andrew,” Neil says, the name a breath. 

Andrew closes his eyes. Just for a second. Relief loosening every inch of his body. _Neil wasn’t going to reject him._


	11. The Foxes do Karaoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When the Foxes realise Neil has never done karaoke, it’s a disaster waiting to happen." 
> 
> Enough said really.

When the Foxes realise Neil has never done karaoke, it’s a disaster waiting to happen. 

Nicky instigates - he knows there’s no way Andrew will ever agree so he plots with Allison who plots with Dan who plots with Matt who gets Kevin on side with help from Renee.

So Andrew and Aaron and Neil think they’re on their way for another Sweeties/Eden evening when the upperclassmen ask for an invite and Neil asks Andrew and okay they’re all on their way towards Columbia.

Nicky weaves a story in Sweeties about a rad new club that apparently Roland recommended. 

The upperclassmen enthuse about it - sounds SO good, let’s go there? shall we go there? 

With bored eyes, Andrew turns to Neil and Neil shrugs. “Can’t hurt to change things up right?”

Oh, it can hurt.

The moment they go down the steps into Siren Sutra, Andrew clocks that this is NOT the kind of club he’s interested in. 

“You do not want to do this,” he warns his cousin. 

Nicky goes white. “Neil’s never been." 

"There’s a good reason for that, Nicky.”

But when Neil realises where they are, his eyes light up. 

He’s so fucking cute like this - eyes like stars, dimples on show, his mouth in that puzzled, hopeful curl that Andrew can’t say no to. They go into the booth.

And okay, Andrew can see why Neil might like this. 

It’s all his favourite people in one room. 

The drinks are still free flowing. 

The music inside is loud and everyone is happy. 

There’s no strangers to worry about. 

There’s no danger.

Dan, Allison and Renee kick off with Lady Marmalade. Matt follows with a tuneless but enthusiastic Party in the USA. Everyone belts out It’s My Life like it’s the only song in the world worth singing.

Nicky rocks Gaga. Aaron commits to a miserable version of The Scientist (because of course he would). 

Andrew sits and watches. 

He waits for the hellshow.

He’s incredibly glad for the alcohol. 

Neil has been given the microphone. 

Nicky is trying to find a song that Neil might actually know. The Reason by Hoobastank? Complicated by Avril Lavigne? Survivor by Destiny’s Child? 

Neil has zero knowledge of any of them.

Andrew steps forward with gritted teeth. 

He finds Boney M. 

He finds Rasputin. 

Neil’s eyes crinkle in delight.

The Foxes stare. But Neil grew up on the road with his mother and she never listened to anything written and produced later than 1979.

Neil starts to sing. Andrew tries not to wince but: 

“RA RA RASPUTIN LOVER OF THE RUSSIAN QUEEN THERE WAS A CAT THAT WAS REALLY GONE." 

If there was a tune, Neil can’t find it. He’s living up to the name of "fox” though, he sounds like one of them screaming.

Still there’s a moment when Neil realises everyone’s eyes are wide with a mix of horror and dismay and his undiluted joy seems to fade, just a little.

Andrew’s not having that. He picks up the second microphone.

Andrew doesn’t have a bad voice. He’s not winning any prizes but hell, he hits more notes than not. 

Neil is vibrating he’s so happy. He’s right up in Andrew’s space and they’re singing together and it doesn’t really matter that Neil sounds like a cat dying.

The Foxes win. Their Monsters are screamsinging their crooked hearts out. Nicky collects his money from Allison with a cheshire wide smile. 

“Told you Andrew would sing if Neil did." 

"I think you lose points for Neil not actually singing,” she hisses back. But she’s grinning.

And everyone sings along to Daddy Cool like it’s actually a good song.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also found here on Tumblr: https://scribbleb-red.tumblr.com/post/189389450503/morning-au-karaoke-foxes


	12. It Comes in Waves - A Cliffjumping AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The water met him with a force that reminded Neil of his mother - slapping his skin, cold and breathtaking. He sank down - sank into a blue world that was silent, separate from the world above. For a moment all Neil can be is a breath of air, emptied of all thought or care."
> 
> In which Neil goes cliffdiving - and maybe, one day, Andrew will take the leap too.

Neil was going to jump.

He stared down at the water below - heart jackrabbiting in his chest, hands unwilling to unclench.

Neil was going to jump, goddamnit.

The water was shiny as a mirror below him - dark indigo deep - the smallest ripples where waves lapped the cliff face.

He’d chosen a hell of a day for it.

But he’d woken up with his soul yearning to rub itself against life.

So here he was - ready to let go, ready to jump.

“Are you going or not?” A drawling voice said over his shoulder.

Neil grinned - a taste of the wild between his teeth. “I’m going,” he said.

And then he was falling.

In mid air he angled downwards - becoming an arrow hurtling down down down.

The air pushed against him, hissing ire as he dropped, unwelcome, towards the waves.

Life was risk and oh in those few seconds - stretching like eternity and narrowing into nothing - Neil felt alive.

The water met him with a force that reminded Neil of his mother - slapping his skin, cold and breathtaking. He sank down - sank into a blue world that was silent, separate from the world above. For a moment all Neil can be is a breath of air, emptied of all thought or care.

He lets himself keep sinking, kicking with his feet to go deeper. The water isn’t so dark as it seems - everything is filtered purple and green. His eyes try to grasp the warp of the water’s light but it’s like looking through a camera lens smeared by a child’s thumb.

When Neil finally beats his way upright, using his arms at last to swim back to the surface, his lung ache and his laugh is bright as the sun.

High above, he sees a small blond tuft where Andrew waits for him.

He waves.

A curl of cigarette smoke is all he gets in response.

Andrew never jumps.

Andrew watches and waits and - Neil won’t call him on it, not again - but he worries.

Every time Neil fancies taking the leap, a stiffness steals Andrew’s already minimal expression. He won’t talk about it though - and he doesn’t try to stop Neil either.

Clambering back up the side of the cliff, Neil’s skin drips with cold water, warms under the dawnsun.

It’s early enough that no one is there to see his scars.

It’s early enough for Andrew not to worry about dragging Neil in for a kiss that is more dangerous than cliffjumping.

The kiss is rough and needy. Andrew pushes Neil down onto the earth and there will be grass and chalk imprinted into Neil’s spine later but right then he doesn’t care because Andrew takes him apart with his mouth and his hands and Neil is alive, alive, alive.

Days later, Andrew sits with his toes tucked behind Neil’s back, eating tortilla soup, steaming with cilantro and lime.

He’s been quieter than usual and Neil hasn’t pushed.

Once upon a time when Neil had only cliffdived once in France, he explained to Andrew why he wanted to go again - the rush of the fall, the pressure in your lungs, the sting of the water, the life in your blood.

Andrew understood - he spent all those years on a roof, after all.

But there’s something else - Neil knows there’s something else - and he’s been waiting for Andrew to share it ever since.

“It comes in waves,” Andrew says at last, spoon halfway to his mouth before being returned to the bowl with a clatter of surprise.

He’s not looking at Neil. It’s easier not to look at each other sometimes.

“And when it does, I feel like I’m drowning,” Andrew’s voice is empty. “It’s like being underwater - and all the people are there, shiny bright things. All of us one entity. But you know they’ll all escape as soon as a shark comes, leaving you to be eaten.”

It sounds like a metaphor and Neil prefers straight truths. Still, he listens.

Andrew is trying to explain that dark, cavernous lacuna in himself - the sense of absence between his ribs, the lost limbs of his soul.

Neil wants to sooth him but all he can do is wait and listen.

“Plus, I’m not a good swimmer.”

“But... you’re from California.”

“And I went to the beach twice,” Andrew says, shrugs.

“Do you want to swim? Do you want to jump with me?”

Andrew thinks about it. Gives a sharp nod of his head and picks up his spoon for more of Nicky’s soup.

So they take lessons.

They go to the pool and they go back and forth, forth and back, until Andrew can swim hundreds of metres without worry.

Andrew’s shoulders never fully relax in the water though - there’s a shadow in his eyes as soon as his feet get wet.

“You don’t have to do this,” Neil says. “I know you don’t love the water.”

“I want to,” Andrew insists.

Neil doesn’t question it again.

It’s a few months later when they wake up as the sun starts to pink the sky and the lacuna calls to them both.

They pack the car and drive.

Andrew was going to jump. Neil heart hurt to think about it.

They stand on the edge of the world, fingers laced.

In the morning light, Andrew seems to glow - hair a soft halo of light, catching the dawn colours.

Neil doesn’t think he’ll ever grow bored of Andrew’s face - the sharp angles, the Germanic cut of his jaw.

“We doing this?”

Andrew’s nod takes a second, “Yes.”

The cliff is green and white, foliage and stone. The water is a shiny stone, slick and dark as a bruise.

Neil doesn’t let himself just fall this time - he takes two giant steps back and then runs - today he wants to fly and fly he does.

The air catches him, carries him —

If only for a moment, Neil is sure he has wings.

He flies and then falls - he pulls his arms in, a bird ready to catch - and the water meets him with the familiar anger of being disturbed before welcoming him down and down.

But today Neil doesn’t stay below the surface long, he surges upwards because Andrew is there this time.

He breaks the glassy plate of the water again, hair flipping into his eyes. Water in his wild smile.

Andrew stares down at him.

Neil thinks of a night with a half burnt cigarette, or looking up at Andrew on the roof and seeing his furious impassivity.

And then Andrew disappears, reappears, and he’s jumped.

There a panic in Neil’s chest, a scream in his mouth.

But Andrew is beautiful and his memory means he mimics Neil perfectly in his flight and descent.

That doesn’t mean Neil doesn’t ache to watch him facing down this fear for him.

When Andrew hits the water, Neil swims over, dives down.

The water is so clear and Andrew is a pale shadow in a blue world.

The expression on his face as Neil approaches is one Neil hasn’t seen before - peaceful, serene.

Underwater, Andrew’s eyes drift open and he sees Neil, reaches forward to brush the scars and skin. They are cocooned in bubbles and shafts of sunlight refracted, wefted.

Andrew's fingers skim his chest, slide over his shoulders. Their mouths are two fissures of air. Their kiss is slow and gentle. They rise like bubbles, float upwards, lips brushing. When they crest the waves, their foreheads touch and Andrew clings to Neil, breathing hard.

"All good?" Neil whispers, his voice is a wave.

"Yes," Andrew says. "Let's do this again."

Because Andrew could barely swim before Neil, felt like he was drowning on days alone.

Because Andrew was scared of falling, but Neil was like flying, diving after a running leap.

Between them is the brag of their hearts: _we live, we live, we live._

And there's the water and each other and the lacuna - both real and within their chests - that no longer feels so empty.

**-THE END -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the amazing Andre (Chryseos1 on Twitter) here! https://twitter.com/RedScribbleb/status/1207586640090320896?s=20


	13. A Flashflood of Colour - An Editorial AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the art of @Chryseos1 on Twitter - this story is set in a world where Andrew is a model for editorial photographers, including Aaron and Kevin. But then he meets Neil Josten and his relationship with the camera is transformed in a flashflood of colour.

The first time Andrew heard about Neil Josten, it was a Wednesday and Aaron came home with the name on his tongue and mania in his eye.

“Have you seen this? Look what he’s done. Andrew, are you looking? It’s a Neil Josten.”

“You sound like Nicky.”

Aaron didn’t even wince.

He did drop the conversation. But for the rest of the week, Andrew found magazine pages on the floor and open tabs on their laptop and he vowed to get his own fixed sooner rather than later. He didn’t care about this ridiculous obsession.

The shoot this Josten had done was with Allison Reynolds - and it was strange. Different to what she’d done before.

This was raw and brutal and honest.

The light was stark, hiding nothing. The design was clean. Only the make up blurred the line between realism and surrealism.

She looked nothing like the airbrushed queen that usually graced the z-list celebrity pages.

She looked like she was caught between worlds - trying to be one thing, striving for it even - but falling short, stalling on Earth.

Andrew took a last glance and pushed the editorial to the back of his mind.

Aaron fixed him with a knowing look that night but said nothing.

Josten’s name didn’t crop up again for months.

_When it did - well - that’s the story._

If someone told Andrew he’d end up modelling for his brother’s camera - he’d have laughed.

If they said he’d come to an agreement with Kevin Day to do the same, he’d have checked them in for mental imbalance.

But supporting Aaron’s passion by posing was Bee’s genius idea.

So Andrew listened despite himself and one day, years later, Aaron was making a name using Andrew’s face - even if it was the same.

Aaron liked to explore ‘the other’ - the shadow escaping the body, the deviant lurking inside.

Who better to explore these aspects than family - his disowned cousin and notoriously estranged and violent and mysterious twin?

Aaron’s work was taking off when Kevin approached.

To say Aaron was surprised is an understatement - he wasn’t good enough yet to impress Kevin Day, surely.

He was right.

Kevin wanted Andrew - Aaron’s stone-eyed, emotionless muse. To say that stung is also an understatement.

Especially when Andrew said no.

Thing is - Kevin didn’t talk about his own work but Riko Moriyama’s.

Andrew knew all about Riko - the way he fetishised his models, objectified them. The way he sought out trauma and exposed it, ensuring each of his shoots was about victimhood.

“Come back when you’ve got something worth offering,” Andrew said - perfectly blankly but full of a sneer.

Surprisingly, Kevin did.

About six months later, with one eye behind an eye patch, Kevin Day came back with promises to teach Aaron, to help him. If only Andrew would model for him.

Andrew does not understand these ridiculous men with their cameras - but he sets terms and Kevin agrees.

Kevin will push at those terms time and again.

Like Aaron, he’ll ask Andrew for more and more and more.

There will be more than one shoot where Andrew walks out.

He has his boundaries, his limits. Boundaries that he’s spent years building, brick by brick, across a mental landscape that’s scorched and battered and barely recovering.

He’ll let Aaron up to them. Let Kevin close but no closer.

Neither can cross.

No one can.

Until Neil.

Neil arrives in Andrew’s life in a flashflood of colour.

His curls are a touch too red, skin a touch too gold, eyes more blue than a winter’s sky and highlighted in a myriad shades of bronze, glittering umber and green.

He looks ethereal, unnatural.

It’s after one of Aaron’s shows with Kevin - and Andrew’s face is everywhere in black and white.

“You’d look great in colour,” says Neil upon seeing Andrew.

“You’re looking for my brother.”

“No. You’re Andrew, the model right?”

Andrew is distracted by those impossible eyes.

“Look I don’t expect you to say yes, but I’d love to work with you. Here’s my card.”

The shadow on Neil’s lids makes the blue irises so hypnotic, Andrew takes the card without saying anything.

He doesn’t say anything when Neil flashes a dazzling smile and backs off either.

Going home that night is a blur.

Andrew is dimly aware of Aaron’s questions, Kevin’s sharp gaze.

The card in his pocket wants to burn a hole in his jeans.

It’s all he can think about.

And Neil’s earnest beauty.

And the brush of fingertips as Andrew took the card.

He spends the night downloading every article he can find into his brain. Every photo. Every cover. Every series and exhibit and collection.

He understands Aaron’s obsession at last.

Andrew turns up at Neil’s studio without warning.

It’s late evening and he doesn’t really know what he’s doing there.

Usually everything he does is deliberate, every decision controlled.

But this is spontaneous, stupid, the epitome of self-destructive.

The Neil who opens the door is dark - his lips are a slash of purple, his eyes have been brushed with gunbolt silver and dusky grey that glimmers.

There’s a snake twisting around his arm - and Andrew can see silvery scars running from knuckles to shoulder - most of them burns.

“You look like a witch.”

The words - Andrew hears them but doesn’t remember opening his mouth to say them.

Neil’s grin is wide and wild. “Perfect. I was going for dark mage. Want to come in?”

Andrew silently accepts the invitation.

“I was hoping you’d come by,” Neil says, sees Andrew’s quirked brow. “Oh I know, hope is such a dangerous and disquieting thing but I’ve found I quite like the taste of it. Tea?”

Andrew nods, still silent.

It's the first time he's noticed the lilt in Neil's accent - something flatter and smoother than just international American.

"British?"

"Spotted that, huh? Did the tea give it away?"

Andrew accepts his mug without further comment. He's busy looking around Neil's studio.

Set up over two levels, it seems Neil's living area is the lofted space hanging above them. There's a wooden ladder going up to it.

And down here, there's currently a jungle - a dark, macabre, phantasmal space that's clearly set up for a shoot.

"What's this for?"

"Shoot tomorrow. I was getting in the mood," Neil says, waving over himself. "Renee Walker. I think you know her?"

Andrew does. "She's not a model."

"No, it's for a cause. The models are former gang members who have rehabilitated."

Andrew accepts this and moves further into the studio, drinking it in.

The place drips with design. Windows and mirrors are angled to drench the place with light. A selection of cameras lie ready for the morning - old and new.

He can already see what Neil wants to create - there are rich swatches of colour to create a titled perspective, fluctuating between representation and abstraction.

It's like looking at a blank canvas - contained, limited - but all of Neil's photos feel like they could burst apart, like they're on the edge of collapse.

Andrew knows he wants to work with Neil. He can feel an itch he's never really had before. He's always felt awkward in front of a camera - exposed and vulnerable - but the way Neil watches him, lets him move around the space without stopping him or explaining or judging...

Well, he feels _seen_.

"Why do you want to work with me?" Andrew asks.

Neil's smile wanes. He heads to the step-ladder, clambering up (and for a moment Andrew imagines pushing Neil against it, pushing open that black silk shirt, pushing --) and then Neil is back, photo in hand.

A full body shot - one of Aaron's very earliest - black and white, as always, stark and unforgiving.

Andrew is looking straight into the camera - torso painted with thin black scar-like lines, legs in tight black that's sheer around his calves, black armbands, black throat.

His eyes are fathomless. His hair so pale it's almost lost against the white background.

If you blink fast, his body almost disappears. If not for the black lines, he'd be gone.

"I saw this years ago," Neil says. "I didn't know it was you and until Aaron's show."

Andrew looks at the old image - he's so much younger there. He can still see the hate in his eyes. The loathing that's mostly directed at himself, and therefore Aaron.

"I've always wanted to work with you," Neil says. He doesn't try to take the photo back.

"I'll think about it," Andrew says.

"That's all I ask."

Andrew believes him. Believes that Neil might understand the word no. He glances at Neil's scars - the warp and weft of burns - the way Neil has painted over them, making them stand out even more with glitter and gloss.

He leaves.

But the next day he comes back.

Neil lets him in with that same wicked grin.

Today his hair is licked through with gold spray, bright as as a candle wick.

The snake still coils around his arms but a new black shirt - this one almost transparent and coming to his knees - billows around him as he moves.

Renee is painting the bodies of the people they're shooting - this is her work and she knows what she's doing.

Everything touched by the gang tattoos is being filled with colour - hot yellows, bright greens, blues upon blues, purples, reds. Everything clean is pitch black.

There's one woman whose face is now half colour and half charcoal - like an abstract painting - her body is pitch.

There's a man who has a half body of yellows and golds - his calves and forearms and head the only parts left untouched.

There's a girl at the back with panda eyes of colour and stripes of black down her shoulders.

The gang marked the girls more obviously, Andrew realises, made it harder for them to hide who they belonged to.

It makes his stomach burn, his fists clench.

Renee looks at him and understands. Her eyes have ghosts too.

When the shoot starts, Neil ushers him and Renee to one side.

He's fabulous to watch - flowing like water between cameras, putting everyone at ease. Hypnotic even.

Renee looks fierce and proud as her work with Neil comes to life.

Neil wants this to be about power and self-ownership, wants these colours to be about strength and survival. It's in every tip, every directorial suggestion. There is nothing objectifying. Nothing disempowering.

The shoot is a success - of course it is - everyone leaves with a smile, a sense of pride.

Andrew hangs back.

Neil tells him to make himself comfortable, he'll be down after a quick shower.

It's a weirdly intimate thing - to hang around in the now empty studio - alone.

Andrew roams the room - letting himself find a place in the setting, Renee's paints are still there, ready for the second round tomorrow. He strokes fingers over the golds and purples, wonders how they'd suit his skin. On his finger tips, it looks like ichor, the blood of gods.

"The red would suit you more," Neil's voice interrupts.

Andrew turns to Neil and blinks.

Hair damp and make up free, Neil looks so soft - skin clean, nose freckled, cheek bones scarred.

There's the memory of mascara on his lashes but his eyes are guileless blue.

He's in soft clothes too - a large cashmere sweater and dark grey trackies - the snake has gone around his shoulders and throat.

"Ask me," Andrew tells him.

Neil smiles, touches an old leica. "Yes or no, Andrew?"

"Yes."

That first shoot starts off in the studio, with Neil asking permission to brush rouge over Andrew's lips, around his eyes. His touch is sure and undemanding.

That first shoot ends with Andrew in a baroque shirt, new earrings in his ears, butterflies everywhere, Neil grinning.

"You're stunning," Neil says.

The words go straight to Andrew's gut even though he knows that Neil doesn't mean it like that.

He's read every article about Neil - knows he's been loudly asexual ever since Phenomena Magazine tried to set an interview up as a blind date.

They smoke cigarettes and develop the photos together in Neil's darkroom. They stand so close, Andrew can feel the warmth from Neil's skin. Neil lets him handle the photos, lets him move them through the solutions and finally hang it to dry, guiding only gently.

"Look at you," Neil says as they watch the image developing. He sounds in awe. "Absolutely beautiful."

Andrew does not blush. His ears do not go pink. That's the lighting.

But what Neil's done is brilliant - without editing, without anything but light - Andrew looks strong.

He looks ferocious and dark and powerful. He looks like part of the wild studio, like some kind of vengeful fae.

*

After that, Andrew works with Neil regularly.

None of their first shoot are published but shots from their second and third and fourth are quickly picked up.

Kevin isn't pleased.

He's always wanted to shoot Andrew in colour. Andrew has never agreed. It's one of his terms. When Kevin confronts him, telling Andrew that he should pose for him in colour too, Andrew points out that _this_ is why he won't. This belligerence, this entitlement.

"Learn to ask, instead of order, and we'll talk."

Kevin looks like he's been slapped in the face.

Aaron watches the argument unfold - he and Kevin are close - very very close. Andrew supports it as much as he can support anything with Kevin involved.

Aaron is hurt too.

But Aaron is hurt for a different reason.

For the longest time, photography was their thing. Their stories, their scars, their trauma.

Andrew has never shown any interest in the scene beyond his brother's lens or Kevin's before. And Kevin was all about Aaron's growth anyway.

But Neil is all Andrew's though, even if Aaron did mention him that Wednesday so long ago.

Andrew's face is everywhere now thanks to Neil.

They have a gallery collection coming out in a couple months.

Andrew is round at Neil's more days than not.

(And he fights not to kiss Neil more and more every time).

So Aaron hurts. And Kevin huffs.

And Andrew leaves them to it because they've always told him that he had to love this art, this world they were in - and until now he didn't care.

He didn't care and thought he never would.

Neil makes him want to care.

Neil makes him _feel_ \- lets him see that he's not just scarred but a survivor, not just broken but healed stronger for it.

There's a project they do around mental health and Neil creates a collection that's painful and beautiful and cruel and whimsical. Andrew is seen in glimpses - flashes of eyes and hands and scars.

There's another about survivors and Andrew features - skin blackened over cheeks and shoulders and thighs, but eyes in darkest gold. His physicality is central here - small and powerful, muscles highlighted. He's a fighter here. He's a victor.

"They're disconcerting and hard to look at," Aaron tells him, looking over the images. "But I get it now, why you work with him on this."

He finally sees that Andrew isn't leaving him behind by doing this, he's finding his own groove, own niche.

But the moments Andrew struggles with are all off camera - in the moments between flashes - when Neil looks at him and he’s looking back and god how he wishes he didn’t feel this way.

Because they’ll be outside and Andrew will wish he could run a hand through the wild curls.

Or Neil will be applying blush and Andrew will wish he could kiss him. Or Neil will take a shot and look at Andrew with such adoration, his chest will constrict.

Or they’ll share stories and Andrew will open up, just a little more, and wish that for once in his life he could ask for more without hating himself.

Or Neil will call him at midnight with an idea and Andrew wishes he could hate how at ease he feels listening to Neil breathe.

Andrew’s not stupid - he knows he should pull away, stop himself.

But he can’t.

If this is all he can have with Neil, that’s fine. He can live with it.

He doesn’t want a life without Neil.

So things fall into a rhythm.

Months pass.

Neil is still the only person that Andrew will allow to capture him in colour, though he has worked with more brands and artists - so long as they shoot with Aaron or Kevin or Neil.

The gallery night arrives.

Andrew is nervous, something he's not sure he's experienced as an adult ever.

Neil bounces on his toes beside him. He's ethereal tonight - dressed in a gold and red and orange - his eyes are lined gold too, scars on his cheeks dusted so they shine.

Andrew is his opposite - in black and silver - hair so pale and styled away from his face. His eyes are kohl-rimmed, his lips smudged with the rouge from their first ever shoot.

Knowing Andrew isn't one for surprises, Neil had asked weeks ago if he could include a a couple of images from that first night too.

Andrew said yes (he finds himself saying yes to Neil a lot).

But when they walk in, it's right there.

Central.

The first thing you see.

A photo he remembers dipping in solution, watching develop. The first time someone called him stunning, called him beautiful. The first time Andrew was a model but wasn't just a symbol of his brother's self-discovery or Kevin's recovery away from Riko.

The first time Andrew was in a photo as Andrew and nothing more or less.

There's purple on his fingers and gold on his palm. The rest of him is monochromatic - an accident of the light.

It's the moment Andrew touched Neil's vivid world, when he was caught up in the flood.

There's pain in his chest because he knows what Neil saw now - the raw wariness and the terrible anger and the spite in his eyes that said "yes, I'm still alive, what of it to you?"

"I hate it," Andrew says.

Neil's knuckles brush his hand, the one that's stained in the photo.

"It's the best photo I've ever taken," Neil says. "I hate it too."

Andrew doesn't know what to say to that.

Does Neil hate it because it's the pinnacle he now wants to live up to? Does Neil hate it because they've worked together so long and this is from the very start?

Neil's eyes slide to him. "Ask me," he says to Andrew and it's a mockery of that night.

"Why?" Andrew asks anyway.

"I didn't know, back then, but this captured the moment I came closest to having everything I ever wanted - and the furthest away I have ever been. All at once."

"Your turn."

Neil's expression gets a little darker.

They're so close. Lost in the art. Lost in each other.

"Did you want to kiss me that night?"

Andrew doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

Adds: "Do you want to kiss me now, Neil?"

Their mouths almost brush as Neil says the magic word, "Yes."

Later they'll realise there's an audience arriving. That Aaron looks decidedly smug and Kevin decidedly annoyed. That Allison has already claimed the story for herself along with a tray of champagne that she's definitely only sharing with Renee.

Neither mind observation.

Andrew's mouth is stained a little gold, a little red.

Neil's is dark, slightly swollen.

(Andrew can't wait to see how the rest of his pretty skin marks up later - it's a canvas he's longed to explore for months).

The evening around them glows.

**-THE END-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andre's amazing header for this story can be found here: https://twitter.com/RedScribbleb/status/1204674631665356800?s=20


	14. The Bodyguard AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Andrew is a former bodyguard just trying to settle into mundane life. He's got PTSD from his time in the army and all he really wants to do is work a simple job that gives him plenty of time to bask in the sun / play with his adopted kittens. Life has other plans."
> 
> TW: Major Character Death (pre-story), referenced torture and lots of super killer Andrew Minyard vibes.

**Part I**

Andrew is a former bodyguard just trying to settle into mundane life. He's got PTSD from his time in the army and all he really wants to do is work a simple job that gives him plenty of time to bask in the sun / play with his adopted kittens.

Life has other plans.

Not only is he still on several watch lists, there's a break in at the building where he's a night janitor.

They attack Bee, a kind lady who often works late & always packs an extra sandwich for him.

Andrew loses his temper. He takes them out. Ten of them. One after the other.

Andrew is still furious when the real security team show up, incompetent & late.

"Call an ambulance," he says. Bee's bleeding & he knows not to fuck with head wounds.

He tries not to close his eyes, not to think of another skull, another pool of blood, hot asphalt and rubber.

Unfortunately, this little stunt means he's called attention to himself.

At the hospital, he's approached by a woman with a vicious smile and the deadest eyes he's ever seen.

"My name is Lola Malcolm. You may have heard of me."

Andrew hasn't. Lola bristles at that.

The ego on her is quite something.

But Andrew doesn't have time for bullshit. He's off the clock. He wants to go back to his cats.

"Go away," he says.

"Is that how you talk to everyone?"

"This is me asking nicely. I won't ask again."

But Lola doesn't leave.

She tells him that they've been watching him since he got back - that they know about him, about Kevin who died in the dirt outside Agadir because Andrew wasn't fast enough, about his brother and cousin who he doesn't stay in touch with but keeps tabs on.

"What do you want?" Andrew says. He feels nothing. He feels everything. How dare she mention Kevin.

"We need you to keep someone safe. Isn't that what you do?"

"Did."

"He's mentally unwell. We need to keep him and his identity a secret until after the Mayoral elections."

"I'm not a goddamn babysitter."

"No," Lola agrees. "You're a criminal and a soldier and you don't want anything to happen to dear, sweet Nicky do you? Or for your brother to lose his licence? You put him through med school, didn't you? Such a waste."

Andrew's heart thunders.

It turns out that Lola works for Nathan Wesninski, one of the leading candidates for Mayor.

The person they want to keep secret?

Nathaniel, the son who Andrew's fairly certain most people assume dead. Something about all this makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

But the threat is against Nicky, who just got married and deserves nice things.

And against Aaron, who might hate Andrew but still sends him a card at Christmas, who made sure Andrew got the best care when he came back from tour.

Nathaniel? Andrew can keep him safe and away from prying eyes. Of course he can.

Doesn't sound like the kid will be much of a problem from what Lola's said anyway.

Admittedly, Andrew was actually imaging a child - the one that supposedly went missing all those years ago.

Nathaniel being gone - snatched - has been key in the Wesninski PR story. Nathan is the hero of the city, just wanting to keep people safe in a way his family never was.

He was not expecting the twenty-something that he finds locked in the Wesninski's "holiday" home just outside of the city.

Nathaniel is a lithe, strange creature - dressed in oversized clothes and with the biggest, bluest eyes Andrew's ever seen.

He might be pretty, if he wasn't clearly drugged to high heaven.

Andrew's gut twists in remembered pain - he'd hated the medication they made him take before he joined the army. Hated the quicksilver cold of them and how they seized his emotions, sliced them away.

Weeks pass.

Very little happens.

When Andrew's around, Nathaniel's eyes track him, empty and doll-like. They don't talk.

Occasionally, Andrew thinks he sees something like loathing flickering beneath all that gormless, blank facade.

Actually. He's certain of it.

Nathaniel has been described to him as a troubled young man, broken by his time in captivity, psychologically disturbed, a flight risk with an anxiety disorder that can leave him with temporary amnesia and paranoia.

Andrew's seen none of that.

All Andrew's seen is a surprising sharpness - glimpses of disdain for the doctors who inject him with drugs every morning, hatred towards the guards milling along the perimeter - and a keen attention towards things like shift changes, what dinners are being served...

Neil is cataloguing anything and everything that might give him a sense of time, that might help him escape. Andrew ought to change the rotas, mess things around to keep Nathaniel guessing, but he's curious.

_What's he going to do? What's he planning?_

Andrew is curious and he knows that’s dangerous when Nicky and Aaron are still in the firing line.

But something is *wrong* here.

Maybe it’s just his mistrust of Lola but every instinct tells him Nathaniel is not here for his safety. Nor his health.

It all comes to ahead on a warm September night - it's the first clear evening in a while and Andrew's outside smoking when he sees movement outside Nathaniel's window.

Andrew moves fast. He's scaling the walls and on the roof in seconds, his eyes scanning for intruders...

There's a cat, small and grey and watching him with eyes bright as mirrors.

He's about to relax when he sees a skinny body clambering out of the window after the cat.

"There you are King," Nathaniel says, not seeing Andrew. His voice is rough with disuse but affectionate.

"Honestly, you're going to get killed coming out here without me," Nathaniel continues. "What are you thinking? Stupid cat."

There's no malice there. Nor insanity. Not even a slur. If Andrew hadn't seen his mouth moving, he would never have said it was Nathaniel speaking.

The cat turns its back on Andrew and skitters towards Nathaniel - looking over its shoulder once. It's enough for Nathaniel to lift his head into the darkness, to _see_ Andrew there, perched on the roof.

"Fuck," Nathaniel grabs his cat and scuttles backwards over the roof.

He's surprisingly nimble. Andrew's sure this is far from the first time that Nathaniel has made use of the roof, which is surprising given that nothing on any of the infrared cameras has ever picked up on him leaving the house.

"What the hell are you doing?" Nathaniel demands. But his voice is smaller now, some of the usual tremble is back. "Creeping around up here like some kind of pervert. The actual fuck."

Andrew's mind stutters. Pervert? "Your cat - they set off the cameras."

Nathaniel winces.

Ah, so Nathaniel _was_ deliberately keeping this on the down low. Andrew was right.

"He's just a stray. He doesn't know..." Nathaniel's body is half curled over the cat as if to protect it.

The cat isn't happy though. He's wriggling miserably, pawing at Neil's arms.

"I'm not going to hurt him."

Nathaniel doesn't look like he believes him. Andrew wonders if he's missing something.

"I have a cat called Sir." Andrew doesn't know why he's talking, sharing, but it's worth it to see those eyes narrow in obvious suspicion.

_Interesting._

He doesn't understand how Nathaniel is functioning. He's seen the needles pressing into veins morning, noon, and night. He's seen the glazed expressions. The way all the light goes out behind those eyes. But now here he is, a wraith perched on a rooftop, talking, glaring.

He doesn't ask because he knows he won't get an answer. Nathaniel doesn't trust him.

The cat doesn't complain though when Andrew comes close enough to rub its tufty ears. It purrs, sinking into Nathaniel's arms.

This close, Andrew can sense the dislike. He doesn't blame him.

They sit in silence for a while. When Andrew lights a cigarette, Nathaniel asks for one with an outstretched hand. When the night becomes cold, Andrew gives Nathaniel his jacket so he can stay outside a little longer.

When Nathaniel finally decides to go back to his room, he pauses, holds the jacket and says: "You know I'm not crazy, don't you?"

"That's generally something crazy people say," Andrew points out.

"I have complex PTSD," Nathaniel says. "Just like you."

Andrew frowns.

"How do I know about you? People talk when they think I'm checked out. They talk about you a lot." Nathaniel shoves the jacket into Andrew's chest. "Thing is I'm not crazy. I was never kidnapped. What you *believe* is a lie."

And then he's gone, slithering through the window.

Andrew draws a shuddering breath of his next cigarette and when the smoke unspools from his mouth, he feels like he'll never taste fresh air again.

*****

**PART II**

Part 1 left Andrew and Nathaniel on a roof, with Neil insisting that he’s not mad.

Part 2 starts with Andrew playing very close attention to the young man he sees days to day - he’s nothing like the man from the roof. He’s slack jawed and almost mute.

Andrew notes the repetition of Nathaniel’s routine.

730am rises - given two pills, one shot

745am - shower, two guards

8am - breakfast (always eggs, always a smoothie)

830am - treadmill, carefully observed walking

10am - one more pill, followed by a snack

1030am – nap.

12pm - lunch, one shot in his thigh

1pm - outside time, sitting in his chair on the balcony, three guards

3pm - television, usually exy

6pm - supper, three pills, two shots, patch on his neck

7pm - the ice bath (Nathaniel always fights)

8pm – basement. _Mystery, irregular._

11pm - bed (latest)

Nathaniel always comes back from whatever happens in the basement looking more fragile than ever.

Sometimes they let him sleep in after too.

Not always though.

And whatever Nathaniel feels, Andrew can only see resignation.

In an average day, Nathaniel will say less than thirty words - just thank you when prompted, to ask for the loo, occasionally something inane about exy, begging not to go in the ice. He always sounds slurred.

But every so often, Nathaniel slips the system and appears on the roof. And whenever he does that, Andrew now joins him.

On those nights, Nathaniel is fragile in the same way as a knife, there’s something sharp and deadly and waiting about him.

They talk, sometimes.

Andrew wants to know about him.

Nathaniel doesn’t care to share unless he’s getting something out of it.

So Andrew offers truths - not big things, not straight away.

He talks about juvie and college exy and joining the army. He talks about his cat and how his cousin gave him the most ridiculous name he could think of.

In return, Nathaniel gives a little smile, it's not much.

But later, he'll say out of the blue that he hasn't left Baltimore in eight years. He'll say that his mom is dead, slide his eyes across to Andrew and say that Lola killed her. He'll say that he first watched exy because of Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day.

 _Kevin_.

Andrew's gut clenches and his skin crawls.

 _Kevin_.

_Andrew’s back on a beach outside Agadir, Kevin's body going cold in his arms. Blood in the sand. Blood in his nose and hair._

_The Moriyamas caught up with them in the end._

"Oh," Nathaniel says. "I see how they got you here now."

"What?"

Nathaniel's eyes are sharp, his shoulders raised, defensive. "I already guessed they had something on you - but it's *someone* isn't it? You've lost someone and you don't want to lose anyone else."

Andrew nods.

"And what, they'd connected to the Moriyamas?"

Andrew doesn't wince because he doesn't show emotions but it's close.

"If it's the Moriyamas, you're fucked. They funded my father."

Andrew frowns. "But they're running against him."

"Hence the use of the past tense."

Nathaniel stands, a swift movement that shouldn't look so graceful when he's drowning in giant woollen jumper but does anyway.

"You should look into that. Nathan Wesninski is trying to land grab. He's got greedy." Nathaniel's grin turns vicious. "We'll all be dead soon."

Andrew doesn't see Nathaniel outside of his routine for weeks.

There are no rooftop sessions.

There are far more nights where Nathaniel is ushered down into the basement looking pale and shuttered.

*

The attack comes on a Monday night.

Nathan Wesninski has been on TV, talking about improving the local economy, reducing crime and defunding planned parenthood.

He's an artist, Andrew will give him that, every word from his mouth feels like a gift, a truth.

It's just another Monday.

Andrew and a handful of security are left upstairs whilst Lola and Nathaniel, their entourage, are down the dark stairs - they've been down there for hours.

And then then lights go out.

Andrew is up and moving before anyone else - his senses immediately heightening as he listens for the pop and hiss of a canister, the thud and pound of intruding feet.

There's only silence.

He checks his knives, draws his gun.

From the weight of it, he has seven bullets left. He'll have to make them count.

That's when he hears it. The shushing hiss of a relay and rope - they're coming from above.

Tucking himself into the wall, he crept down towards the sounds - they have to be coming from the skylights in the hallway...

He's right.

There's six of them already, more coming.

He has the advantage, this is home turf.

The idiots he works with, however, don't make use of it.

Before he can take control of the situation, two Wesninski brutes attempt to melee, guns cracking off, hitting one out of six targets.

The noise makes Andrew's heart pound.

But it's a distraction, he can make use of it.

Whilst they're flailing, Andrew slips behind one of the intruders, snapping his neck and making him drop. He wrenches the helmet away - perfect, now he has night vision.

He takes the gun as well, check the bullets. They're darts.

Poison?

But he's in the fight now.

A fist finds a throat. An elbow slams down against an arm. Feet swipe out, he's falling, twisting but he's up again moments later.

A jujitsu double-hand parry to a figure-four arm bar, the pleasing snap-snap of wrist and elbow breaking, and—

The enemy are down another gun, it skitters across the floor.

A second man rushes him, taller. Not stronger.

Andrew throws a palm-heel strike to the bottom of his chin, rocking his head back. He firms his fingers, a hand spear crushing the exposed windpipe.

 _Hello, sweet adrenalin._ Andrew feels alive.

He grins at the gargling noises they make as they writhe & struggle to breathe.

There's a gun nearly at his chest, he seizes the man's wrist, twists, hooks his thumbs around the trigger, pulls. The man screams and hops, foot blown away.

_Huh, so not all of them were carrying darts._

The thought barely passes his mind, he's still holding the man's wrist and now he's twisting it again, pointing it upwards, taking off the man's jaw with the next shot.

Pink mist hits Andrew's skin. _What a mess._

He takes the gun, fires off three shots into the heads of the next few men, snicker-snack and crack, skull and brain meeting marble floors.

That was too easy.

He runs for the basement door, doesn't knock. He's flying downstairs and there's still light in here, though barely.

Nathaniel is alone when he finds him.

There's a chair on the ground, a grate in the floor, Nathaniel sways on his feet, looking sick and pale and his eyes have the glossy shine of someone who is far from cognisant.

"Oh, you finally made it to the basement."

"You're alone?"

"They had to quicklime the body, just in case." Nathaniel's on automatic. "They'll be back."

Andrew notes the second door leading further down into the ground. He doesn't want to think about what's been going on here. But the grate is redder than rust and Andrew isn't an idiot.

"Come on, we need to get you out of here."

Nathaniel follows, an obedient dog. He shrinks the closer they get to the surface. By the time they're in the house, he's basically useless, shuffling, staggering over his own feet.

The power isn't back.

They're probably not alone.

Andrew gets them to the garage, into the car.

Nathaniel isn't paying attention. His eyes are closed. His skin is flushed with fever.

_Is this what they’ve been hiding? Is Nathaniel some kind of manic killer?_

Andrew looks at him, studies him. He’s so childlike, so birdboned.

“We’ll get you somewhere safe and call for backup.”

“Don’t... we could just... run.”

“Nathaniel...”

“I don’t want to go back.”

Andrew contemplates it but there’s Nicky and Aaron to consider.

“They’ll kill my family.”

Nathaniel sighs. It’s so small, so sad. “I had to ask.”

He closes his eyes and Andrew looks away before he has to acknowledge the lone tear leaking from beneath auburn lashes.

Andrew drives. He keeps one eye on the mirror, looking for pursuers.

There's nothing. Just the empty road. The Baltimore stink of grit and heat and petrichor.

His heart is slower now. The burn and rush fading from his veins. He thinks of Aaron and Nicky. They'd hate this.

They drive out of town, hitting the highway.

He thinks of Nathaniel's obvious sense of hopelessness, his drugged lethargy, his wicked tongue slurring, his bright eyes dull and empty.

"Tell me why," Andrews says. "Why don't you want to go back?"

Nathaniel doesn't rely immediately. "Why do you want to know? What difference will that make?"

Andrew's knuckles are white on the wheel.

"Because if I'm going to put my family at risk, I need to know why. So tell me your reasons. Let's see if we can make a deal."

*****

**Part III**

Part 2 ended in a car, wheels screaming.

Part 3 starts in an office, sparsely furnished, with everything designed to look clean and minimal - like nothing could be hidden here, like everything had a place.

Like it wasn't one huge deceit from the city's greatest liar.

Nathan Wesninski was a not a good man, but he wasn't a bad one either. He came from the underbelly. He'd done bad things.

But he turned his life around after he lost his family.

He was a bad man trying very hard to be good.

Just like you, your neighbour, everyone really.

Or so spun the PR story.

There was an art, a balance to having every scar and stain of your soul on show - yet showing none of the real truth at the same time.

But that was Nathan, an artist, a connoisseur of chicanery, a dictionary definition of duplicity and skullduggery.

He stood in his window, sunlight pouring in, bright enough to turn him into nothing but shadow.

Lola Malcolm sat in a chair, jaw set, mouth thin, grin missing for once.

"You lost him. And he took my son."

"Yessir."

"What are the chances he'll turn to the Moriyamas."

"Low, sir. Our intel shows he was once in a relationship with Kevin Day - he hates the Moriyamas."

"And yet you didn't use that to bind him to our side." Nathan's voice was silk over a weeping wound, all slide and stick and pull. "I didn't take you for a fool, Lola."

"Sir..."

"No, Lola," said Nathan. "It's your turn to be quiet. I've heard your excuses and poorly thought out reasons but it seems you've become complacent during your years safeguarding and training my son. Did you think it was too easy for you? Not enough grandeur perhaps? Don't speak."

He muses, staring out across the candy green lawns and the fan-shaped ginkgo leaves fluttering in the breeze.

"You will be punished, so do pay a visit to DeMaccio. But before you lose your senses - and trust me it was close to being your head - I want you to make a delivery."

"A delivery?" Lola can't hide the scorn in her voice. She's still worth more than an errand boy, surely.

Nathan hears it. "You will not take that tone with me." His voice is low and deadly and she shivers. "Since we cannot attack Minyard's family just yet, I want you to send a warning."

Snapping his fingers, a box is brought into the room - the man carrying it is as non-descript as they come. He puts the box on Nathan's desk.

"Do what you like with this but make it meaningful."

From the box comes a long, high mewl.

Lola smiles.

*

Just outside of Washington DC, Andrew has to pull over so that Nathaniel can be sick in the layby.

The twitches are bad low - withdrawal absolutely kicking in - Andrew wishes he knew more about what they'd been giving Nathaniel. Other than being downers of some kind, he's blank.

Nathaniel doesn't know much either. He can describe the results - the blankness, the sense of being entirely separate from his body, feeling nothing. He knows the pills are some kind of anti-anxiety, supposedly...

They're on the road again, this time Nathaniel's in the back, arms wrapped around himself as if they're all that's keeping him from falling apart.

He's not crying yet. He's not begging.

Andrew remembers listening to Aaron through the door in Columbia. He knows what's coming.

David Wymack's house is a simple place - one up, one down, white porch with a swing, front garden lined by cherry trees. Andrew leaves Nathaniel in the car when he rings the bell. There's a moment before he hears shuffling and shushing of the dog and Wymack opens the door. He immediately looks torn between surprise, concern and possibly the desire to hug Andrew.

Taking a step back, Andrew nods. "Hi Coach."

"Andrew," says Wymack. "What are you...?" He cuts off, his attention drifting over Andrew's shoulder to the car. "You'd better come inside. Bring the boy and I'll call Abby."

He leaves the door open whilst Andrew goes to retrieve Nathaniel, who is clammy to the touch, his clothes sticky with sweat and sickness.

They work together to get Nathaniel into the house and upstairs, straight into a bed. Almost as soon as Abby appears, she's gone again to fetch an IV and fluids and Andrew takes a step back as she starts to check Nathaniel's vitals.

They've dropped, fast. He's barely cognisant.

Abby works him out of the layers of sweat-damp clothes and nearly recoils when she sees the ruined skin beneath his clothes.

Andrew looks on, analytical, checking to see how they match up against the story he heard only hours before.

There's the iron brand, the bullet wound.

There's the knife wounds, the clear and deliberate scars left by torture.

It's reassuring to know that Nathaniel was telling the truth.

When Wymack asks, Andrew tells the truth too.

"That is Nathaniel Wesninski."

"He's meant to be dead."

"He's been alive the whole time, much of it in the care of his own father."

"Those scars..."

"How the Wesninskis and Moriyamas show love, apparently."

"Fuck, Andrew."

Wymack scrubs his face looking decades older in seconds.

"I didn't think I'd see you again, after Kevin..."

"Sorry you did?"

"No. I'm glad. But whatever mess you're in this time doesn't fill me with confidence for your mental wellbeing, kid."

"What mental wellbeing?"

The thing about politics is that Andrew doesn't have time for it.

Oh he votes. He cares. He's not an idiot and he knows he doesn't have the luxury of not paying attention.

But the mechanisations. The underhandedness. The actual act of "politics" held no interest for him.

Wymack, however, took it upon himself to not only pay attention, to care, but to act. To be the last semi decent politician in a corrupt and fickle game.

He'd never gone further than primaries, but he was a well-liked figure, at least.

And Andrew trusted him.

He thinks he still does.

It's been years, though. Since Wymack ran a weekend exy team for released delinquents with his newly discovered son.

Years since Kevin and Andrew were a tentative thing with too many issues to work and too many promises to fail.

Years since Kevin was shot.

Years since he was cremated in a foreign country and delivered home in a poorly sealed shoe box.

Andrew still hates himself for that.

For failing to protect Kevin.

_It was meant to be a vacation._

Andrew was off-duty and they'd headed to Tagazout, to a surf camp that offered just enough activity to appease the constantly moving Kevin and plenty of peace and quiet for a soldier on holiday.

They'd not thought of Riko following them.

They'd never considered that Ichirou might want to tie up loose ends when he took power of the Moriyama empire.

Turned out they should have been more cautious. Living at the Nest gave Kevin too many secrets.

And whilst Andrew waited for a wave, three men dragged Kevin away.

They pulled him into a dune, shoved a bag over his head, kicked his legs out from under him...

Andrew squeezed his eyes shut and leant his head against his balled fists on his knees.

What was the point in thinking about this now?

There were plans to think about, revenge and Nathaniel included.

Andrew ground his teeth, desperately seeking his centre.

Wymack brings him a cup of hot chocolate and Andrew's reminded of why he's here.

"I have a plan," he says. "To bring them all down. To stop all this."

Wymack waves him on. He'll listen. He'll hear Andrew out before making any kind of verdict. (Secretly he knows he'll do anything to bring down the family that killed his son).

Days vanish between sheets of paper and half-dried ink, conversations and plotting and the slow burn of drugs being sweated out of Nathaniel's system.

Andrew touches base with Nicky and Aaron.

They'll stay to ground until he tells them otherwise.

"There are worse things to happen to a man than dying," Andrew tells Wymack over coffee. "That's why we're going to destroy them. Their reputations. Their empires. Their families. Their sense of security and power. We're going to bring them to their knees."

He keeps to himself that he's got a case of bullets with their names on:

_Riko Moriyama_

_Ichirou Moriyama_

_Lola Malcolm_

_Romero_

_Nathan Wesninski._

He'll offer that last one to Nathaniel, if he wants to take the final shot.

It's as things are falling into place - their little band of merry men - that he gets the phone call.

It's from Aaron.

He'd left the safe house for milk and discovered the body of a cat - Andrew's cat - mutilated on their porch.

"I'm sorry, Andrew."

It's the most emotion Andrew's ever heard from his brother.

"Apologies are useless," Andrew says. "I'm sending you a car."

Safe houses were one of Andrew's main expenses - filtered through layers and layers of security and precautions, the ones he'd set up for Aaron and Nicky were the only ones he didn't have in relative proximity to his residence in Baltimore.

Maintaining the safe houses was intensive - he watered the landscaping, cleared flyers, took in the mail, programmed the lighting-control systems. Each location had mission-essential gear & weapons.

He had one that could take Aaron and Katelyn, only a couple miles from Wymack.

That was the benefit of the line of work he briefly took after losing Kevin. He was set up with more than enough resource now.

He could keep his family safe.

Although he was sure Lola wasn't done sending messages - and he wondered what it would be next.

He refused to think of soft paws and small rumbles on his pillow. There was no room for that now.

For too long, Baltimore had mostly been a city caught in the middle of a chess game - for years it had been the Moriyamas in power, then their Butcher decided he wanted more and put himself on the opposite side of the board. Now there was going to be a third player.

"Fuck the board," said Wymack.

"Fuck the board." Andrew said and twitch of his mouth might as well have been a grin.

*

Step one begins on a Wednesday. The sun is shining.

Wymack gives an interview discussing Kevin and how he understands Nathan Wesninski's desire to ensure no more boys are lost to gun violence.

"It may have been on another shore, but it stems from the same hate & violence."

"The issue is how we handle it. Even in the hands of police, increasing guns on the street is not our answer, nor is increasing stop&search, which only bolsters racial divisions. Nathan's heart is in the right place, but his tactics make our city a less free, more divided place."

It's a tiny step. It makes the papers run headlines looking at the policies Nathan supports that increase surveillance reduce civil liberties.

The next step is a single comment. "If my son returned from the dead, I'd rejoice and sing it from the rooftops."

In his office, Nathan's grin turns cruel around the edges. He knows what Wymack is saying.

*

On the other side of the city. Ichirou Moriyama also knows. His brother, Riko, is almost vibrating in his seat.

He's been petulant about giving Nathaniel back for years and now he could get him back - "Nathaniel was just so compliant by the end, brother, addiction tamed him so well".

*

And in a small town house in a suburb, Andrew Minyard reads through the latest media storm whilst Nathaniel sips at a glass of water.

The Butcher's Son is gaunt and shaky and sober. 

He's perfect.

"Are you ready, Nathaniel?"

That grin flashes, bright, wicked. "When's the interview?"

"Tomorrow afternoon." Andrew scrolls through twitter, enjoying the outcry.

"Wonderful. And let's introduce me to them all as Neil. I want nothing to be left of my father when we're done."

*****

**Part IV**

Part 3 ended with the beginnings of a plan.

Part 4 starts in a studio - beneath the glare of electric lights, a makeup artist attempts to conceal some of the lingering sickness and Nathaniel's pallor.

Andrew watches, blank as ever, wary of hiding too much.

The lights in the greenroom are garish and blanche Nathaniel's skin. He looks almost translucent. You can tell he hasn't stepped foot in the sun for years. He looks fragile too - as he often does - and Andrew wonders how this bird-boned creature can still hold so much spine...

Andrew can't help himself - he constantly finds himself comparing Nathaniel to Kevin. They're both beautiful. They're both broken. They're both, somehow, tolerant of him and all he's done.

Nathaniel has a little more monster in him though.

There's a different darkness in him.

Kevin would never have been able to do this either - oh he played the game as well as he could, he wasn’t a coward.

But he was risk averse. He had more to lose. He wanted to make sure he had more time. He wanted to live.

Nathaniel was a survivor, but he was prepared to die.

Andrew understands that. It’s like calling to like. They match in this, if little else.

So Nathaniel tilts his head this way and that, checking out the make up artists work.

“Do I still look sick?” He asks.

“Yes,” Andrew says before the artist can apologise. “It’s perfect.”

The artist looks at him askance.

Andrew doesn't say anything else. He knows what they're doing. He knows what comes next.

Nathaniel does too. There's that gleam in his eye, the devil showing through his pretty mask.

He's his father's son, there's no doubt of that.

"You ready?" Andrew asks. "There's no turning back after this."

"I've never been more ready." It doesn't sound like a lie. Nathaniel smiles at him in the mirror. "What about you?"

"I've been ready for three years."

The interview is with Kathy Ferdinand. A woman Andrew would personally ignore if he saw her drowning.

She's a hard-faced bitch with a penchant for surprise guests. Andrew and Wymack have both warned Nathaniel that his father is likely to come on after the commercial break.

Nathaniel doesn't care.

"Let him. Let him try and escape the stories we're going to tell today."

They feel ready.

Andrew can't help but think this could still go sideways.

He wants to say: be careful.

He wants to say: don't let your guard down.

He wants to say: run if you need to.

That sounds a little too much like caring.

And there's no running. Not once the cameras start rolling.

Nathaniel is ushered out and Andrew waits in the wings, watching out of sight. They'll be safe in the spotlight but not in the shadows.

Wymack is in the audience, a solid presence for Nathaniel to focus on.

Kathy's routine is familiar. She steps out to applause, makes them laugh, makes them curious. she welcomes on the mysterious guest.

"So Nathaniel," she begins.

"Please call me Neil," he replies, so soft-spoken, so sweet. "All my friends do."

Kathy's smile softens. "Neil."

"Thank you very much for coming on today, Neil. Your story is quite something."

"I really didn't mean it to be..." he says and oh he's good actor: demure, doe-eyed, absolutely deadly in his deference to Kathy. "I just... wanted to be heard after all these years."

"Of course you didn't," Kathy says. She's buying it, this innocent act.

Unsurprising, even Andrew has to remind himself that this is the same boy who told him about skinning a man's arm as a method of torture.

Kathy leans in. "But what you've told us is really quite immense."

"Won't you tell us who you are?"

Neil sighs, nods, fidgets. He's the picture of nervousness.

"My friends call me Neil. My full name, however, is Nathaniel Wesninski. My father is Nathan Wesninski, the republican candidate for Mayor of Baltimore. And I'm here to prove it."

There isn't an uproar. It takes a moment for the information to process.

And then there's chaos. People are whispering, some are gasping, others exclaiming.

_He looks like him. They have the same eyes. Look at that jaw, it's so much like his father. I thought he was dead._

Kathy lets them gossip and worry for almost a minute.

Neil shrinks in his seat, hands obviously shaking.

After a long moment, Kathy quietens the room with a look, reaching but not quite touching Neil's knee.

"Won't you tell us how you came here today?"

"I can try."

The story they've prepared is good. It's a believable truth. A tragic truth. Close enough to reality and yet deviating just enough.

"It was raining, that's the clearest memory I have. And a man was carrying me out to a car..."

Neil changes the night his mother ran away with him into a kidnapping.

"My mom was there, she was bleeding from her head and the rain made it look real bad."

In this story, Neil and Mary Wesninski were victims of a double kidnapping. They managed to escape after a brutal few months but they were being chased.

Their freedom didn't last. Mary was killed. Neil was taken captive once more - held prisoner and subjected to horrendous abuse.

"It seems too terrible to be true," Kathy comments, "but this really was your life."

Neil hesitates, fingers playing over the hem of his t-shirt. "Y-yes it was. I can... show you... a little of what they did... if you."

"Please."

Andrew's fists clench.

They'd discussed this, using Neil's scares as a small proof to make the story real.

It doesn't make the action any less hideous when Neil lifts his hem and exposes his ruined skin - the patchwork of knife wounds and poorly healed lacerations, the numbers cut into his hip.

Kathy's hand flies to her mouth. "You poor boy. How old were you?"

Neil drops his hem, cheeks pink and lips trembling. "I don't know. It was just constant from the day I was kidnapped to the day I escaped."

Gathering herself in the fakest way possible, Kathy waves him on.

"I escaped maybe six weeks ago."

It was exactly seven since they left his father's safehouse.

"They'd hired a new guard for the house where I worked and befriended him. He felt sorry for me and helped me flee."

"But Neil, so long? Why didn't you go to your father?"

Neil looked up then. It was the first time he looked fully into the audience. His eyes were filled with tears, impossibly big and blue and raw.

"I did," his voice cracked. "But they didn't believe me."

"Oh Neil, what do you mean?"

"His advisors don't believe I'm his son. And I understand that. I do. It's a bit like Anastasia coming back from the dead, isn't it? Other than our colouring, I guess I don't have much of my dad in me. I understand why he wouldn't see me..."

"He didn't even see you?" Kathy looks shocked but Neil can see her thrill.

"Really, I understand. It must be so hard for him. I was so young..."

Good boy, Andrew thinks. It's being eaten up by the audience, this drama. The cruelty of Neil's rejection and his continued sympathy work well to stir up the looks and whispers.

There's three minutes of adverts in which Kathy hugs Neil - and he leans into her.

Her hands find his spine, the protruding shoulder blades. Andrew notes the moment she feels how painfully thin Neil is - her whole demeanour shifts from bone-picking harpy to righteous fury.

"Welcome back everyone after that short break. We're here with Neil, also known as Nathaniel Wesninski, the missing-presumed-dead son of leading politician, Nathan Wesninski."

"Neil what you've told us has been absolutely heartbreaking." She means it. She actually means it. "But let's see if we can do something about your first problem now. Everyone, please say hello to our second guest of the morning - Nathan Wesninski."

Nathan's entrance receives a mixture of applause and concerned hissing.

Already, people are wondering whether he's the heroic and grieving father he claims to be or just a callous politician using public sympathy to garner votes.

It's too soon to taste victory but Andrew can smell it like a shark scents blood.

Nathan sits on Neil's left, distance carefully measured - but it's not enough to hide how similar he is to Neil. How different.

They've placed him perfectly.

Neil looks tiny and frail.

Nathan so healthy and broad and tall.

"Nathan," Kathy says. "It's so good to see you again."

"Thank you for having me." Nathan's voice is the opposite to his son's - deep, resounding, full.

"From what I've just heard from Neil, this is the first time you've seen your son since he went missing all those years ago."

"It is," Nathan says. "You sound surprised."

"Well yes," Kathy replies. "Neil's plight is quite something - and the fact that he reached out only to be rebuffed, so heart-wrenching. It seems astonishing, after all these years looking for him, you wouldn't want to talk to him."

Nathan nods. "I have wanted to see my son again since the day he disappeared. Unfortunately, in my position, I wasn't even aware of the attempts Nathaniel made to contact me."

"You're saying your advisors didn't think you'd like to know there was a boy claiming to be your son?"

"I'm saying that since Mary and Nathaniel were taken from me, we've had many people pretend to be my boy. Every time it's been a false claim. And every time my heart has broken all over again. My advisors simple wanted to protect me from more disappointment."

"That is quite the torment," Kathy says but her mouth is an unforgiving line as she pauses. "But surely the possibility is worth the pain, this is your child?"

"I would very much like to see it confirmed," Nathan says, turning to Neil.

Neil looks at him, so hopeful it hurts.

"I would love to know that you are Nathaniel, my son - to take you home."

It sounds like a threat.

"Nathan, a few more questions before we come back to Neil." Her emphasis on Neil instead of Nathaniel hits: a stiletto digging into an ex-lover's foot. "Let's talk about Mary."

"For years, didn't you suspect that Mary was the one who kidnapped Neil, running away from him because of her post-partum depression?"

Nathan sighs, lips turning downwards as if in sorrow. "Yes, I feel very badly to have doubted her. She was a good mother."

"But she was unwell. You've discussed her in great length in recent years, supporting mental health initiatives for mothers, particularly those that choose to be stay-at-home moms."

"Of course, after all she went through I wanted to make sure no one else suffered the same."

"But you're now of the belief that she was kidnapped? Removed by force?"

"What?"

"Well in your earlier comment you said that Mary and Neil were taken from you, does this mean you have new evidence perhaps? Since you no longer think it was her mental illness?"

Nathan stares a beat too long, off guard.

"I think I simply wish to believe that this young man is my son so badly that I have already started to belief his story. There is no new evidence to suggest Mary took him or was taken herself."

"I see, well it's quite the dilemma."

"It is."

"But fortunately for you both, Neil provided a sample of his DNA a few days ago and we were able to compare it to your own."

The crowd stirs, expectation a thick, fizzing weight in the room.

Neil's smile is beautiful, dangerous thing. Andrew's own mouth twitches.

Kathy shifts to face the audience, ever the consummate host, "Shall we give them the results, everyone?"

There's an uproarious YES and Neil's ears go pink.

"Neil, what will it mean for you, for the results to come back confirming Nathan is your father."

"Everything," he says. "It's one of only two things I want in the world."

"And what's the second?" Kathy asks.

"To get justice for my mom," Neil says. "I understand my father's reasons for not seeing me before - my heart ached as his has - but when the results confirm that I'm his son, I need to use this moment to ask -to beg- that the police look into my mom's kidnapping and death.

"For too long, she's been almost a footnote in our family tragedy - but she deserves justice. I want to find her body. I want my father to help me. Until I have justice for mom, I can't move forward. I can't live with my father. I can't truly let go."

Kathy eyes glisten.

"And Nathan, what would it mean to you?"

"If the results confirm this match - it will mean the world."

Nathan's words stick. It's almost emotional. But not enough for Kathy; she narrows her gaze, not buying it. "Will you help Neil find his mom?"

Nathan can only say yes.

Andrew grins - fully, widely, showing all his teeth. Game on.

An envelope is passed to Kathy. It's opened.

She pauses.

Smiles.

"It's a happy ending, everyone. Nathan Wesninski, we have found your missing son."

And when the crowds scream, Neil's eyes spill over with tears.

When Kathy claps, Nathan's fists clench.

"Won't you hug each other? After so many years, let's see the most sought after reunion since the Spice Girls."

People in the audience are crying. Nathan embraces Neil.

Andrew can see Neil's expression falter as he's caught in his father's arms, the absolute panic and fear.

Fortunately it's the other side of the camera and Nathan let's go too fast for that terror to turn into anything more. Or so Andrew hopes. The mask has definitely cracked.

Kathy begins to wind up her show.

Neil confirms that he will not be moving in with his father until his mother's body is found and justice brought to her.

"I simply couldn't stay in the house where we lived so happily, not knowing she's somewhere out there, all alone."

Kathy accepts it, forcing Nathan to stop insisting on his return to the Baltimore mansion.

This round is theirs: Neil's and Andrew's. It feels good. So fucking good.

With Wymack in the audience, the next part of the plan is easy enough. Andrew waits for Neil offstage.

But there's a familiar blond waiting for him first.

A knife catches the light.

Andrew knew this part was the dangerous bit and he quickly draws his own from their place in his armbands. "I'd say it's nice to see you, Lola, but I'm not a liar."

"You've made things very difficult for me," she says, scowling.

"You've made things very easy for me."

As if he was going to do anything other than destroy her after she killed his cat. Andrew wants to take out Lola's eyes and feed them to her.

Lola is a good fighter and she moves like liquid - so fast and fluid a lesser soldier wouldn't have had time to avoid the blade the whizzes under Andrew's chin.

But Andrew isn't a lesser soldier and his hand flies up to grab her wrist and twist, disarming her.

But she's not done that easily.

She parries, parries, parries as Andrew lets loose, bruising forearms and knuckles but taking no real damage.

She twists away, the comes at him again. A jailhouse lunge.

He blocks, grabs, hands in blurry unison.

She spins, ducks, dances away.

She's laughing and he wonders if she even cares how public this is, how easy it would be for them to be caught.

She lands a blow to his jaw and strikes the bump of Andrew's wrist with enough force that his fingers release, his own weapon shoots free.

 _Fuck_.

He barrels over her, using the vanity to lever himself higher. She's taller than him but that's her only advantage. He grabs her in a grappling move that locks her tight, shoving her to the ground, immobile in his grasp.

"Give up," he says. "This is not the place. When I kill you I want to take my time."

Lola struggles and snarls, nails scratching but with so little purchase they barely graze.

"You should listen to him, Lola." A voice: velveteen and cruel. Nathan.

Andrew lets Lola go slowly.

She peels away just in time for Neil to enter and freeze.

For Kathy to follow them both inside and frown. "Something going on here?"

Andrew shakes his head. "Nothing."

Kathy clearly thinks something salacious was happening but who's Andrew but a body guard? She doesn't care enough about him.

Neil on the other hand... "Now do keep us informed of how the investigation goes, won't you, Neil?"

"Of course. Thank you so much for everything today."

"Not at all. Not at all. It's a pleasure to have been part of this amazing reunion."

She waits for them all to say their goodbyes, for Neil to apologise to his father for not coming home yet, for Nathan to say it's fine, it'll work out.

Only then does Andrew move to Neil's side and guide him away.

Outside the crowds will be baying for an investigation.

Wymack will be giving a statement about how moved he was by their plight and declare his intention to support the reopening of the Wesninski case.

There's no turning back now.

But as Andrew meets Neil's eye in the car, their fingers brush for the tiniest second and they both know that there's no regrets. No second thoughts.

They're going to destroy Nathan Wesninski.

And then they're going to burn the Moriyama empire to the ground.

*****

**PART V**

Part 4 ended with Nathan Wesninski being outplayed by his son.

Part 5 starts with a sniper on the roof, gazing down the barrel of his gun, waiting for the word to shoot.

Romero Malcolm wasn't a world-class sniper but he was a world-class asshole, and he had money and technology on his side.

All he had to do was have Andrew Minyard in line of sight and the microelectronics he'd placed earlier in the day would guide the bullet home.

So he lay on his stomach, waiting, waiting, catching glimpses of blond hair through the window but never enough to pull the trigger.

He never saw bullet coming.

All he felt was the cold tip of the barrel, heard the crunch and click and then—

Andrew pulled the gun away, eyeing Romero's corpse with disdain.

 _Pathetic_ , he thought, _predictable. And far too easy._

He's almost-but-not-really surprised. He knew that Lola was the brains in the Malcolm set.

He lifts a hand to his ear. "You can put the mop away now, Neil."

"Mid-waltz? You couldn't have waited until I got to dip you?"

Andrew rolled his eyes. "We need to clear up this mess. Bring the car."

"Alas, until next time, dear Mopdrew."

"Neil."

"Coming, coming. Geez."

Neil brings one of the cars around - the boot already has a suitcase, a rug and a significantly sized canister of petrol.

"Your apathy doesn't bode well for your sanity," Andrew comments.

"Honey, who said I was sane?" Neil replies with a wink.

Andrew's eyes do a lot of rolling these days - but Neil knows this is the closest Andrew gets to laughing so he grins even wider.

They dispose of the body in the usual way - dismemberment, cremation, ashes dumped into the rumbling Patapsco.

Neil hums a little as they work.

They've had a number of attempts on their life in the last month - ever since Neil's interview with Kathy Ferdinand.

The first few were freelancers.

The latest were slightly higher profile minions.

Romero is the most senior yet and Andrew knows Lola will retaliate.

But that's the whole point - to draw them out, to pick them off.

There's strength in the pack but Andrew is going to destroy enough of the Wesninski's that the next stage of their plan falls into place.

Of course, things can't continue on so smoothly.

Whilst part of their plan is working out well, there's certainly tension with how Wymack's side of the action is coming to fruition.

Neil has been working with him to get the police looking for Mary Wesninski's bones and Wymack has been using the moment to pick apart the position of the republicans running for office as well as the backers. However, no one yet has made the link (or dared to) regarding the Moriyamas. It's frustrating, this social cowardice.

They need a journalist on their side - someone investigative rather than salacious.

Andrew reaches out to Renee - her mother is mostly retired and her protege, Allison Reynolds, is someone Andrew cannot stand.

She's a last resort.

It looks like they need her.

Neil's first meeting with Allison confirms all of Andrew's worst fears.

Together they are menaces - dancing around each other with a thousand hidden schemes and plots on their tongues.

Somehow it works. It's enough to keep Neil's name in the news, his face in people's minds, his words spreading doubt like wildfire.

But they need to push harder.

They need someone to put together the link between the city's most powerful business family and what happened to Mary.

So they tell Allison about Evermore and Neil's childhood introduction to Riko and Kevin Day.

The issue is how this stirs up Neil’s memories.

Like Andrew, who never feels safe, never sleeps well, constantly wrestles with his rage and his fear, Neil also has complex PTSD.

He wakes screaming, sleep walks, suffers night terrors almost nightly.

Andrew will often find him in the kitchen around 2am, coffee in hand, wan & rung out.

It’s a side only Andrew sees - when the mask falls & Neil is too tired to pretend he’s fine.

They’ll sit & drink & smoke and sometimes they’ll talk, unpicking a little more history each time.

In those gloom smothered moments, they don’t feel like they’re in the middle of a war with their lives on the line.

There’s a quietness, a camaraderie to their conversations.

They both struggle. They’re both so painfully human.

This is when they let themselves be still.

The day a black car arrives in Wymack’s drive, waxed so fine that the bonnet is a mirror, Andrew knows there’s something wrong. The man who steps out is sleek and shiny too - black hair, black coat, black shoes that gleam.

Riko Moriyama is a familiar villain to Andrew.

He’s a torturer to Neil.

Neil cowers back and presses himself into the space between his cupboard and the wall.

Neither of them are going to admit to staying here but Andrew can see the myriad triggers playing over Neil’s face. The ghosts left under his skin.

“He’s not here for us, not today. He’s just here as a warning.” Andrew isn’t good at reassurance.

Neil presses his head into his knees.

“Stop it,” Andrew says, he knows it’s not that easy but he wraps a hand on the back of Neil’s neck and tells him to breathe.

Andrew is half there with Neil, half listening to the comms he’s activated on Wymack’s porch.

Riko has rung the bell and he can hear Wymack shuffling around with his security team to answer the door.

“Riko, good to see you. What brings you here? All alright at home?”

Wymack is staring at the man who murdered his son but you’d never know it.

“I’m here in a personal capacity, Mr Wymack, because of the special relationship I held with your son. I feel I owe it to you to bring you news that may impact you in the near future.” Riko is so rehearsed and so camera-ready in everything he does.

Andrew wants to stab him.

Wymack is very still and very calm. “That’s kind of you, Riko,” says Wymack but doesn’t invite Riko inside. “And what is that news?”

Wymack watches Riko and only feels pity. He’s always felt pity for this sad and broken boy who would do anything for even a slither of attention from his family.

Including shattering Kevin’s hand over a game. And then acting surprised when Kevin left him - physically and emotionally breaking up with him.

Fortunately, Kevin came to Wymack. From there he met Andrew too. For a little while, Wymack knew his son had been happy and in love, and loved back - to some degree at least.

Wymack never believed Andrew was heartless.

The infighting was what Andrew was trying to exploit - if they could get the Moriyamas to fight the Butcher and then to fight each other...

Riko’s mouth is a rictus grin, he knows Wymack isn’t unflappable.

“Come on, boy, have not got all day here.” Wymack pushes because he knows it’ll piss Riko off.

Riko’s mouth pulls wider. “See, my brother would be so disappointed in me for telling you and ruining the surprise.”

“Then don’t tell me.”

“Oh no, really you’ll want to know this.”

“Then get on with it.”

“Well you see an investigation is is launching into the life and motivations of Allison Reynolds. Suspicions have been raised around her allegations towards certain political figures. Given her history with her family & their generosity towards our party... It seems like she might be twisting the facts for her own vendetta against her parents. Dear, sweet Nathaniel is merely being used by a media harpy. We intend to rectify this of course - if found guilty, she will be fired and of course serve a term in prison.”

Upstairs Andrew listens and unpicks the layers of this warning :

The Wesninski’s were fair game but not the Moriyamas,

They knew about Neil’s living arrangements here,

They were willing to use innocents to make an example to others.

But if they’re doing this now it’s only because they’re getting nervous. Andrew knows it’s time to relieve some evidence of their current owners.

They need the Evermore tapes.

*

Andrew Minyard, former soldier and bodyguard, doesn’t look like much on the surface.

He’s five foot nothing and pale as the fog and twice as impenetrable. He’s broad shouldered and strong but understated.

He doesn’t move like a killer, not until he has to.

Stealth is something he hasn’t used in years - not in the alway he’s about to anyway.

His day devolves into planning, picking Neil’s brain for as much detail as possible around Nathan’s house and getting in touch with his various contacts via a swathe of burner phones.

“I can help,” Neil insists.

“No, you can’t.” Andrew won’t have time to think about protecting Neil at the same time.

“I’m good with knives, surely—”

“But what about in a fight? You can cut and torture but can you fight?”

Neil’s eyes grow icy

 _Let him be mad,_ Andrew thinks. _If it’ll keep him safe, it’s worth his ire._

That’s all Andrew tells himself before leaving to collect what he needs.

Andrew knows a munitions expert just outside of DC and he heads there first, knowing he can trust Roland because of how much illegal shit the man does for fun.

He’s also a neutral - anyone can hire him - the one rule is ask him no questions and he’ll be your guy.

Andrew is good with respecting other people’s rules - right up until they try to kill him at least.

Surveillance is next.

He needs to know exactly how the Wesninski household move. The rotation of their guard. When people come and go. As much of a schedule as possible.

He doesn’t have days to stake out - but he can give himself 48hrs to look for patterns.

“You know my team is on hand any time you need them,” Wymack says.

Andrew does. He’s still not sure about them though - Dan Wilds is a fierce leader and he doesn’t know where he stands with her. Plus he has plans for her husband, Matt Boyd, if this all pulls off.

So what does Andrew do?

He watches and waits as he's been trained to do.

He primes himself for the opportune moment, using split seconds to move and place strategic detonators around the grounds.

These aren't mines. They'll only go off if he needs them, needs a distraction.

He waits, waits, waits.

And then a sleek Bentley in navy blue vanishes up the driving, passenger: _The Butcher._

And Andrew knows this is what he's been waiting for.

They shouldn't know he's coming - but he assumes that they might.

He scales the walls efficiently and slides inside through a window with the flimsiest lock he's ever seen.

Picking his way through the house on Neil's memory alone, Andrew finds himself in Nathan Wesninski's office.

If the man is as much of a psychopath as Andrew suspects he is, then he'll want to keep the video of his son's torture somewhere close by - accessible, watchable.

So his first bet is the office. It's spartan, deliberately so, and Andrew quickly runs his fingers over the few objects that might be big enough to hide a memory stick or a USB drive.

There's space for a laptop but it's missing, clearly taken along wherever Nathan was going. Andrew frowns - it seems unlikely that the kind of evidence he's after would be something Nathan kept on his person. He eyes the bookshelves - he doesn't have time to check them all.

But he can check to see if any are less dusty than the others. After all, Nathan is a psychopath that just lost his favourite toy...

He approaches the glass case and saw flickering orange in its reflection.

That's when the first round struck him.

A beanbag, not a bullet, still lead-packed and heavy.

A second cracked a rib.

A third dropped him to the floor.

There was no pain, yet, it was too soon for that. But he could feel the promise of it. He fell, snatching at his gun.

By the time he had flipped over, the room was heaving with people - far from the hapless freelancers Andrew had been picking off one by one, these guys were also trained.

Andrew was surrounded and battered.

He raised his weapon and it was kicked out of his grasp.

He jerked to his feet and was kicked back down.

A click and whoosh found him bound tight in a hunter's wild-life capture net.

Andrew was pinned. His knees crushed into his chin, his arms pinioned around his head.

He glared up at Lola Malcolm. She wasn't smiling.

She looked satisfied.

She looked at Andrew like his inevitable death was all she ever dreamed about.

"I can't believe how easy it was to lure you here," she says. "Really, I can't. Did you really think that my master and the Moriyamas wouldn't see the benefits of a ceasefire whilst we rid the world of _you_ as a problem?"

Andrew says nothing, refusing to give her anything.

"And to think I've been told I can take my time with you, after what you did to my poor, sweet brother. I'm almost disappointed. I expected so much more effort in your capture."

She waves her hand.

He doesn't see the needle coming.

*

**Part VI**

The story resumes in that infamous basement - so similar to the one at Nathaniel's safe house - with a roll of knives laid out, row on row.

Lola trails her fingers over her instruments, wondering which to play with first.

Shall she take a slither of skin at a time?

Shall she cut away a knuckle?

Should she make tiny little delicate cuts between his nails and then stamp them into hot chilli oil?

As a connoisseur of pain, Lola wants this to take hours and hours and hours.

She wants Andrew to know suffering like he can't even imagine.

It'll start with her knives.

It'll continue with a special delivery from Easthaven.

And it'll finish with him begging for death.

She has it all planned out. It's going to be so sweet.

Because when Andrew is shattered beyond recognition, she will bring in Nathan and he will see how well she has done.

He'll forgive her once they've brought Nathaniel home.

Now all she has to do is wait for Andrew to wake up and the fun can begin.

Andrew's ribs woke him up. They scream at him as he stirs, setting his teeth on edge.

He's naked, his scars exposed, red and purple bruises staining his chest and legs.

Groggy facts come to him: the mission, the failure, Lola's cat-smug smirk.

She prowls into his vision, clearly pleased with her own timing.

"Realise where you are yet?"

Andrew says nothing.

He knows that there are times to talk to a captor and that this is not one of them.

He breathes in, out. Reminds himself that even if his childhood hadn't been enough, he's been trained to withstand with stress, disorientation, torture.

He'd been electrocuted and waterboarded, burnt and sliced open. That training made resistant to pain and drown-proofed.

There are corners of his mind he can retreat to when necessary.

There are ways to mitigate agony, make it something removed and endurable.

He can survive this.

"Nothing to say? I'm so glad. We're going to have so much fun loosening that tongue of yours."

Andrew rolls his eyes before he can stop himself.

Lola doesn't like that.

She back hands him, sends his head snapping to the side.

She picks up a deadly little scalpel and crouches down in front of Andrew's chair.

"Before we begin, it's tradition for me to tell a man what I plan on doing with his pieces," Lola says. "How do you think little Natty is going to feel when you're returned to him bit by bit?"

She started with his hands.

Each cut was tiny but perfect - setting every nerve on fire.

Andrew let himself feel it - it would keep him awake a little longer, give him a base line for what came next.

Andrew wondered when Neil would realise he wasn't coming back.

Because there's no one in the wings waiting to swoop in and save him.

Andrew went into this plan alone despite everyone else's warnings.

He's a dead man and a fool.

He knows Neil will see the plan through to the end.

Wishes he could see it through too, see the Moriyamas fall.

Hopes Neil will learn to live after all of this.

Feels wrecked at the thought on not being there to see Neil make the most of the freedom he deserves.

When Lola bring out a blowtorch, he closes his eyes and retreats into his skull.

*

As Andrew loses sense of time, the outside world keeps turning.

It doesn't take long for Neil to know something is wrong.

It takes him less time to realise that he's going to have to put his own plans into action to get Andrew out of whatever mess he's in.

He goes to Dan Wilds, tells her that he needs her help. She's happy to give it.

Neil's plan isn't a fast one - they need manpower, which Dan can give him.

"We're going to get him to show us where that data is," he says. "By being really really fucking annoying."

"We know that they know that we're after those files. So we need to force them to make mistakes, put pressure on them until they reveal what we want."

It's a simple trick - one that Neil saw in a TV show once during a drugged-out-daze so he listens when Dan refines his idea.

She shows him how they can stalk Nathan without it being an offence, how they can be overt enough to look incompetent but stealth enough to be taken seriously.

They set everything up and Neil prepares to confront his father yet again.

The first time is made to look like an accident - Neil just happens to be crossing the street when Nathan's car comes to the traffic lights. He lifts his eyes and then the corners of his mouth when he sees his father's pinched face.

The second time, he glides by a cafe looking for all the world like a ghost made real.

Nathan's gaze sharpens and hungers after him.

And meanwhile Dan's people are stalking Nathan too - sitting too close at a neighbouring table to be a coincidence, stepping into his path when he walks to meetings, cars constantly on his tail.

Wymack's role comes next, he's on the phone when Nathan arrives for a city assembly.

Talking in hushed tones he appears not to have noticed Nathan's approach.

"You've found it? And can you access it? Are you sure? You've really got it?"

Nathan doesn't freeze. He pivots.

"He's on the move," Dan confirms over their group comms. "B Team, time to move."

Nathan slides into his car and tells his chauffeur to drive.

Neil is close enough to hear Nathan's snarl. Until now he's been leaning against a motorbike, helmet on, looking for all the world like a courier awaiting a package. Now he slings his leg across and revs the engine.

"We're right behind you, Neil."

Neil stays a car behind, keeping Nathan in sight but without tipping them off to being followed.

They're not heading back to the house, he notices. This road leads downtown but there's something familiar about the route. Neil doesn't figure it out until Nathan's car pulls up outside the Baltimore's Basilica of the Assumption.

Memories crash through his skull. His mother putting on her lilac church dress & lily perfume. Her hands smoothing his tie. Nathan choking her for speaking out of turn.

Neil's hands grip the handles of his bike and he parks up around the corner out of site.

"We're at the Basilica."

"We're close. Don't engage him."

But Neil is an instigator at heart and his head is full of his mother's face turning red with her husband's hands around her throat and Andrew is missing, he could already be dead, and Neil is done being mollycoddled.

He doesn't take the direct route into the church though, contrary to popular belief, he's not a total dumbass.

He finds his way through the vestry and from there into the pews where his father is knelt, head bowed as if in prayer.

It would seem strange to anyone but Neil that the drive could be here.

Neil knows why Nathan keeps it here. This place is a symbol of how perfect the mask is, how convincing he is, how powerful in his lies.

After all, he could choke a woman and then pray like a saint.

From the shadows, Neil sees his father's hands unzip one of the kneel cushions and his fingers search out a tiny drive.

So predictable.

Now to get it away from him.

"Nathaniel," says Nathan. "Do you think I don't know you're there?"

Neil flinches and freezes.

Dan must be close by, but is she close enough if his father decided to attack him?

"Come on, let's talk."

Neil has no interest in anything has to say.

He makes a decision that will either save or destroy him. He turns on his comms.

Stepping from his alcove, he slides a knife from his sleeve & comes to sit behind his father.

"Give me that drive," he says.

"And why would I do that, dear child? I'm the one with all the cards here. Your precious bodyguard is currently spending some well-earned time with Lola. I hold the drive. You have a little knife. And who taught you about knives? Me."

"Perhaps," Neil admits and he's proud of his voice not shaking. "But in five minutes, the press will be here. I'm fairly certain they'll be interested in why you're holding evidence about what happened to me during my tragic kidnapping rather than handing it to the police."

He really, really hopes that Dan is listening and has Allison on her way over.

Nathan laughs. Such a rich, warm sound has no right to come from a man like this.

"You're also surrounded. My men--"

"Do you think even your men can work fast enough to hide my body and that drive before the press come through that door?"

"You truly are my son, aren't you?"

"No," Neil says. "I'm the son of Mary Hatford. You're nothing to me."

There's a beat of furious silence before Nathan rolls his shoulders and lifts the drive up so that Neil can see it.

"We're at an impasse then. What do you propose?"

"Give me the drive and we all walk away."

"Except, of course, your Mr Minyard."

Neil twitches and is glad his father can't see his face.

"Do you know what Lola's doing to him right now? Who she's brought in for a very special second act? Do you know how Riko tried to destroy him before he joined the army?"

Neil has heard fragments from Andrew - about Easthaven and the doctors there. The one that believed in therapeutic reenactments, even for victims of sexual abuse.

"Does the name Proust ring a bell?"

_No. Surely Nathan doesn't mean..._

"How about you try again. What do you want to do, my boy? Do you want this little drive or shall we come to an agreement?"

"You'd let him go?"

"I'd make Lola release what's left of him. It's been a few days, you'd be amazed how efficient she is."

The problem is Neil does know - he knows because he carries her work on his skin as well and he can’t stand to think of Andrew in her care.

Or Proust’s.

So he makes a deal.

*

When they step out of the church, the press is there. They tell a story about how they came her today, together to remember Mary. Neil forces himself to smile and lean into his father’s side.

Allison does the interview, but many others ask the same kinds of questions.

It lasts nearly half an hour before Neil hears Dan’s voice in his ear: “We’ve got Andrew, Neil. We’re taking him home.”

Neil is collected by Renee. She’s a weirdly steadying force next to him.

The drive is interminable.

Neil feels rung out and knows he must look it when Abby ushers him and immediately plies him with tea.

The security team arrive soon after, Andrew is unloaded, wrapped in a blanket and bundled straight upstairs.

He’s awake enough to catch Neil’s eye on the stairs.

Even his gaze is violent. He knows what Neil did.

Andrew sleeps for nearly a whole day before Abby permits Neil to visit.

They sit in silence, Andrew’s bandaged hands between them.

“Next time you stick to the mission. We need to bring them down.”

“If it means losing you? Then no. No I’d do it all over again for this.”

Neil means Andrew coming home but Andrew sneers, “What this? There’s no this. We’re allies in a war, Neil. That’s it.”

Neil doesn’t agree. Perhaps they started that way but between nightmares and late night coffee, shared secrets and cigarettes, they’re no longer just allies.

“I couldn’t leave you with her - I know what she’s like. And when he mentioned Easthaven...”

Andrew glares. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You don’t have it.”

“Or your protection.”

“Too late.”

“We were so fucking close, Neil. I don’t get why you’d squander that.”

“I didn’t,” Neil says. “We got what we wanted.”

Andrew quirks an eyebrow.

Neil draws out a tiny square drive and holds it flat in his hand.

“During our interview I pickpocketed him. He’s currently holding a camera drive full of photos from Wymack’s aunt’s dog’s birthday.”

“Do you want to watch it with me?”

Andrew blinks. How can Neil be real? How can any of this be anything more than a pipe dream.

Maybe he died in Lola’s room.

Maybe this is all a dream.

Andrew holds out his hand. Neil tips the drive into it.

This chip holds months worth of footage of how Riko tortured Nathaniel.

Kevin will be in it too.

Andrew swallows. It’s time to face some ghosts.

*****

**Part VII**

Andrew is home, bloodied but alive and Neil is in possession of a much needed chip of data.

Now we find ourselves with Allison Reynolds, sitting in the aftermath of watching the videos on that drive. She’s torn between glee and horror.

This is the scoop of a lifetime.

But what was done to Neil.

What was done to Kevin... and what he did as well... holding people down whilst Riko ‘played’.

_God they were all so young._

She works hard that week, pulling sources, finding more witnesses.

The footage is damning but the systemic abuse inflicted at Evermore is something she can’t leave out.

She wants there to be no chance for Riko to wriggle out of this.

She takes statements, finds death certificates, checks and double checks the reliability of every single person she speaks to. She’s relentless. Right up until her editor says no.

No, the Tribune will not publish such defamatory work.

No, she cannot take her work elsewhere if she wants to keep her job.

No, they will not give her original copy back, they will destroy it.

Fine, she says. But it’s not fine.

She calls Renee and Stephanie.

Both of them are grim.

“Am I missing something? Isn’t it enough?”

Stephanie sighs - because yes, Allison has missed one crucial detail. She’s writing for a paper that is all but run on Moriyama money. They’re the biggest advertisers in the Tribune. There was so way they were going to publish Allison’s story.

“So where do we go? NBC? Wired? The Baltimore Metro?”

Stephanie says she’ll look into it. “We need to know which platforms don’t take money from them.”

“That could take weeks.”

“It could be another story. They have subsidiaries too. Let’s see how many places turn you down.”

“The public hate nothing more than corrupt journalism and fake news. If we can show the Moriyamas are also perpetuating that kind of language...”

So the days pass with their head in books and blogs and browsing pages, looking for clues, and Wymack holds the fort in the press and Andrew heals enough to get out of bed by himself and the plot seems to be just mildly delayed.

But Andrew has a feeling the ball isn’t so much in their court - and for the first time Allison and he are on the same page. There’s something going on. The threat against them isn’t so easily muted.

They know they’re right when Stephanie’s car is run off the road.

They know they’re right when she walks away with nothing but whiplash but with the glare of headlights burnt onto her retinas.

They know they’re right when Wymack’s front porch is decorated with a dead fox and when Neil starts to receive a count down of numbers - to what they don’t know but it can’t be good.

“We need to get that story out, fast.” Andrew tells Allison. “How can we help?”

She would scrub her face if her make up weren’t so perfect today. “We need someone to care enough to print. Someone who cares about the truth more than money.”

But where does truth matter more than money? No where Andrew knows.

Except... perhaps...

Renee makes the suggestion, clearly not pleased with the situation but willing to go where they need to go.

“What about Seth Gordon? He works for Vice now.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Allison doesn’t want to hear that suggestion.

How many times had that man broken her heart?

Over and over and over.

But Andrew knows it could work - Vice have a huge investigative team these days and their reputation is strong enough to get attention when it’s something like this.

“Do it,” he tells Renee. “Call him.”

Allison refuses to be the one on the end of the line but she gives them her phone.

It’s garish - studded in tiny crystals.

Andrew dials Seth’s number with the blankest expression he can maintain whilst Neil is giggling next to him.

“Well hell-oh, sexy, fancy hearing from you,” Seth says, picking up on the second ring, a note of breathlessness in his drawl.

“Seth Gordon, right?” Andrew says. “I have a story for you.”

“Wah fuck who the fuck are you mate? What are you doing with Alli’s phone.” Seth splutters and gibbers, confusion and irritation clear.

“Allison is willing to share a byline with you on the biggest scoop you’re likely to ever see if you can get her a meeting with your editor.”

Allison glowers next to Neil - Renee rubs a thumb over her wrist, back and forth, soothing.

“What’s the story?” Seth asks, intrigued. “Why can’t Alli publish it with the Tribune? They’re bigger news than us.”

“Because this story is about one of their biggest advertisers —“

“It’s *Allison*. A-lli-son. Not Alli. Stop trying to make Alli happen.” Allison bursts.

“Oh there she is, my girl. How are you, sweets?”

Allison’s perfectly painted lips pull back in a snarl.

Leaning forward into her space, Andrew warns her to stop. “I don’t care about your personal drama, right now if we want to stay alive, pull your shit together, Reynolds.”

“Wow wow wait. Stay _alive_? Did I hear you right?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck kind of story is this?” Seth’s tone is uneasy and eager and edged at the same time. He’s an addict, Andrew remembers, and it sounds like his new drug is a scoop.

So they tell him enough to get a meeting, give him pieces of Allison’s backed up copy of the article, send him a clipping of the video that clearly shows Riko Moriyama cutting his way along Neil’s exposed back.

Seth brings them into the office, tells them to set up.

His editor will be there in ten minutes.

Seth Gordon isn’t an idiot - he’s acted like one in the past and he’s a bit of an asshole still, but he’s not a fool. He knows that by bringing this story here, he’s going to be in real danger and unlike the rest of the team, no one will notice if he’s killed off.

They’ll blame his death on his past, which he’s written so candidly about for the drugs pages.

They’ll point to his broken home.

They’ll say he got into a gang fight, because that’s what people like him do. Black boys with bad backgrounds never really grew out of the ghetto, right?

Hell, if he was shot by police, people would just say ‘oops, wrong place, wrong time’ because who gave a shit about men like Seth Gordon, no matter how reformed?

He writes a tweet in advance - saves it to go live on day of publication.

_“If I die any time soon, I promise it’s not an accident. I won’t have relapsed. It won’t be police brutality. It’ll be a cover up. But you need to know the truth. Deserve the truth.”_

He’s feeling very melodramatic by the time his editor agrees to publish - they bring a team off videographers, bring in the witnesses again for interview.

Neil is central to all.

Looking once again like he’s a broken and grieving boy, not the son of two murderous gangsters.

He speaks to camera about his memories of captivity.

“If this is what they did to me - what did they do to my mom?” He says, twisting his hands in his lap. “And why did they do it at all?”

And it’s there, during the final interview, that Andrew smells something - a gas, chemical-sharp and tarmac-hot - his eyes flick to the door. Smoke oozes from underneath it.

Andrew can’t dash, he’s using crutches to walk on feet that Lola tried to flay.

But he pushes himself towards Neil.

“We need to get out of here. Now.”

The doors are locked.

Andrew calls Renee.

“It was a fucking set up. Get me everything you have on this editor, on everyone in this room.”

If they survive this, he’s coming for blood.

All the while, his eyes are roving the walls and ceilings. They’re too high up to jump, the vents don’t look accesssible. Seth is shedding clothes, trying to stop the gas getting in but it’s already making them woozy, stinging their eyes and nostrils.

"Andrew?" Neil asks, arm thrown over his nose and mouth. "What do we do?"

"Break the windows," he says. Maybe if they can disperse the gas...

But the glass won't break.

Sweat trickles down Seth's neck. "Don't you carry a gun?"

"Your boss made me leave it."

"What about a knife?" Neil asks.

Seth is incredulous. "A knife against reinforced glass? You fucking with me?"

"It's level 2, not indestructible." Andrew passes Neil one of the blades from his armband. "You think you can crack it?"

That's all they need.

A crack.

From there Andrew should be able to break through.

Neil weights the blade in his hand.

He's feeling the gas - whatever it is - it's making him lightheaded. But knives are as natural as breathing to him. _So why not give this a go?_

He takes aim, staggers. "Fuck."

"C'mon bro. If you're doing this..."

Steadying himself, coughing, Neil tries again, finds his centre and takes his arm back.

Throws.

The blade spins, too fast for the eye.

The blade cracks against the window - metal and glass screeching. A spiderweb splinters out from the impact point. Fine and silvery and it has to be enough.

Andrew hefts his crutches up, ignores the screaming through his body --

"Dude, stop." Seth grabs the crutches before Andrew can fight him. And then he's swinging at the glass.

And the spiderweb spreads.

Again.

Again.

But the glass doesn't break and the gas grows higher.

Neil has crumpled against the wall, coughing and wheezing, eyes fluttering closed. Andrew is on his knees.

Dimly, Andrew can hear footsteps clattering through the corridor - a stamping, stomping march.

"Fuck..." Andrew thinks, or did he say it aloud? His lungs burn.

Seth swings at the window once more but there's barely any heft to it.

"N'drew." Neil murmurs, head lolling forward.

Their eyes close.

*

Ichirou Moriyama feels pleased with himself.

Watching the Wesninski brat choking for breath, well, there's something delightful in that image. He replays the footage. Ineluctably, it's satisfying to watch Minyard pass out too - such a brutal little man, reduced to nothing.

It was almost a pity, he thought, to cut them all off at the knees.

They'd been trying so adorably hard.

Men like that, he could have used them at his side. But you can't break a horse twice and these would-be monsters had far too many bad habits to be attractive investments.

Seth Gordon was the interesting anomaly - he hadn't been expecting them to go to him, of all people. And he was still there, panting and awake, forehead pressed against the glass. So close to freedom and yet so far.

"Brother, are you in position?" Ichirou spoke into the office, knowing Riko would have an ear piece in.

"We're ready when you give the word."

"Good. Dispose of them however you see fit, won't you."

"My pleasure."

"Then go."

*****

**Part VIII**

Ichirou Moriyama might be sitting there congratulating himself on a job well done but for Seth the fight wasn’t over yet.

Seth Gordon, unlikely hero of any story, lifted the crutch just one more time. He held his breath. He swung.

When glass falls to the ground it shatters.

A thousand slither slight shards that glint and gleam and scream as they fall, stealing the light and scratching the air with splintering cries.

They collapse inwards, becoming nothing but barbarous dust.

And Seth inhales them desperately.

The air is sharp and stinging cold. They're so high up, the wind rushes in and lifts the glass with it.

Seth throws up his arm to protect his eyes.

The wind slices his cheek, his chin.

But with every inhalation, exhalation, he feels more awake. The gas smacked out of his system by the clean, fresh air.

Looking over the edge, he can see a fire escape, almost in reaching distance but just too far…

Except Seth is a survivor and he's not giving up yet.

He drags Andrew over to the window first, slapping his cheeks.

“Come on man, come on. Wake up bro.”

He leaves to pick up Neil and bring him over as well – he’s still far too thin, too tiny, it’s a wonder he has room for so many lies tucked inside these bones.

Jostling Neil’s head, he plops Neil beside Andrew, propping them against each other to stop from slipping into the glass.

They’re not stirring, not yet.

Seth grimaces and looks out the window again.

With the crutch he can probably make it. He can probably reach the ladder and pull it down.

“This would be hella easier if one of you fuckfaces woke up,” he says, knowing it’s pointless.

He doesn’t look down as he hoists himself up onto the ledge, glass cutting into his arms where they’re clinging to the window frame for support.

He ignores the jackrabbiting pace of his heart, the pinprick cars below.

He leans out, crutch lifting, reaching.

The first time he misses.

The second as well.

The third time is not the charm.

It's just so far up.

Drawing a shaking breath, he adjusts his grip and rises on his tiptoes – stretching, stretching, stretching.

It catches.

Seth's palms are sweating and blood-slicked, he knows he doesn't have long here before he slips and fallings hundreds of feet to his death.

So he gathers his ragged focus and pulls.

It's the same time that his hand slips. His stomach flies into his mouth, gravity and horror warring for who wins. He's going to fall.

It's the same moment that he feels hands around his ankles. Even as he's watching the crutch slip from his hand, the ladder stretching down towards him, there are also hands on his legs, holding him, stopping him from dropping.

"Neil?" Seth blinks up at him as he's dragged bodily back inside.

The minute human really just dragged his fine ass inside like it was nothing.

Voices ring outside their door, footsteps thundering.

"Quick, c'mon." Seth helps Andrew up - he's conscious, at least, though groggy.

Neil is better, albeit looking a little loopy and they scramble out onto the ladder - luck and luck alone keeping them alive.

Luck - which Seth has also never had - and so as they start to climb up the ladder towards the next floor, he's thanking every deity for whatever karma has protected him today.

He wants to apologise to Alli - _Allison_ \- properly.

He wants a big mac and fries.

Somehow - between a miracle and the police, firebrigade and ambulances turning up - they escape.

*

Riko and the rest of his men melt away as if they were never there.

Ichirou sits back in his chair with a smirk. How very, very interesting this all is turning out to be.

*

Neil, Andrew and Seth are checked over by Abby. They check their losses – other than the additional footage, they still have everything they need to publish their story. Including access to the Vice website through Seth.

“Whoever did this expected me to die today. Fuck them.”

Seth punches the enter key.

The story is submitted.

The next few days are a blur. Allison and Seth are everywhere - the internet goes wild with their story, they're invited on TV shows that refused to take their calls before. Neil and other survivors, including Jean Moreau, are asked for additional statements.

Wymack backs an enquiry into Evermore.

Governors and senators, pundits and business leaders all leap on the story for their own reasons - could this be a chance to steal ground from the all powerful Moriyamas?

Three days later, Riko Moriyama is taken in for questioning. The next morning he is found dead in his cell.

Andrew shares a quiet smile with Neil, who moves his head to rest on Andrew’s shoulder.

“We’re so close now.”

They are. In more ways that just their shared mission to destroy the Moriyamas.

Andrew has noticed the shift, the way they gravitate towards each other. How they stand a little closer than before. Something inside Andrew feels looser with Riko dead. At least one demon is laid to rest.

His eyes drop to Neil's face - his brows, his nose, his cheeks, that mouth.

Neil is a good-looking man, he’s sharp in the way a knife is sharp, resilient in the way of a sheath.

Andrew respects him.

Andrew wants him.

He thinks Neil might want him back.

But they have things to do - lives to ruin. This conversation - because it will need to be a conversation - will have to come later.

The comments from Ichirou are predictable.

He reminds the press of how he and his brother were estranged.

He denies any knowledge of Riko’s activities before joining his household.

“My brother was many things, but I cannot believe he was this.”

But that’s okay - they’re happy for him to deny deny deny.

They still have all the names of all the editors who refused the story because of the Moriyama name.

When Seth and Allison release that list on social media, it goes viral overnight.

Moriyama stock trembles and then plummets even further. The business vultures circle.

_Oh, they’re ready to feast._

*

Stage 2 - the hardest stage of Andrew’s plan - is done.

Because on a Tuesday morning overhung with fog, Wymack stands outside city hall and announces that devastating links have been found between the house of Moriyama and the Wesninski candidate.

“Whilst we cannot share the details at this time, we have considerable concerns about how Nathaniel Wesninski came to be at Evermore, especially following human trafficking and slavery allegations against Tetsuji Moriyama.”

Neil grins at Andrew’s side. It’s all teeth.

*

Andrew has time to heal as the weeks pass and the days grow shorter.

There's a chill blowing in off the ocean.

The team take a trip out of town, heading to the Ocean City Boardwalk. It's Allison's idea.

Neil and Andrew hang back, away from the sand.

The waves crash in Andrew's skull

The sand slices open Neil's heart.

"This is a bit of a mood killer," Neil comments. "I used to like the beach. I remember coming here as a kid once."

"I learnt to surf - years in California, never went near a board. Then with Kevin..."

They press their shoulders together, as close to comforting as they can. The wind at least is soothing, wild and cold and refreshing.

Mary's bones are found in a backpack, burnt black as the sand. The news spreads like wild fire.

There's one problem. It wasn't Wymack's people who dug her up. It was Nathan.

Andrew bristles as Nathaniel is brought in for questioning, refusing to leave his side.

"Was this your backpack?"

"Yes."

"Were you there when your mother was killed?"

"No."

"Tell us again how you escaped and ran from your captors."

Over and over it goes.

The FBI release Nathaniel with clear reluctance.

Nathan wants suspicion to fall on his son - and Andrew is having none of it.

Fortunately the media isn't either.

Between Kathy and Allison, Seth and Wymack - accusations against Neil are ridiculed, rebutted and refuted.

Now it could be the PTSD, the paranoia that creeps constantly between the folds of grey matter in Andrew's skull. But he knows in his bones that this moment is the most dangerous.

He's waiting for the real threat to rear its head.

What do wild animals do when threatened? They attack.

Andrew and Neil are very obviously threatening what matters most to these two monsters.

Reputation is everything to them.

Their status, their power.

The fact that neither Nathan or Ichirou have made a move makes him nervous.

He’s right to be.

The Moriyamas and Wesninski may not be able to officially ally themselves - not when there’s such a definitive wedge caused by Neil’s existence and Mary’s death.

But beneath the surface - in the underworld where they’ve always thrived - it’s another story.

Psychological warfare will be their best weapon as the timer on Neil’s phone continues to tick down to zero, and Andrew knows their lives won’t be the only things they stand to lose.

"There are things worse than dying for these men," Andrew tells the team. "They're trying to intimidate us and we won't be intimidated."

"I don't know, dude." Seth scratches his neck. "I sure as fuck don't fancy dying."

"Staying alive is preferable," Allison adds.

Seth grins. He likes being on the same page as Allison, even if it does kinda suck that's she's dating someone as scary as Renee Walker now.

Andrew lays out his plans.

The third and final stage is about fear - about inciting paranoia the way that the Butcher and his Master have always done for their victims.

Andrew wants them to taste their failure. To watch as everything is taken from them.

Wymack is uneasy.

And brutality is best served by those who have nothing left to lose. When Andrew looks at this ragtag group of survivors, he knows that's not true for him anymore.

That night, when he's alone, Andrew messages Aaron.

And surprisingly Aaron messages back.

He and Katelyn have moved out of the safe house but have agreed to a security team until the fight is over.

He tells Andrew he's surprised he bothered.

"I didn't realise you cared."

Andrew fights his fingers but they type out a response anyway.

*Of course I fucking care. I keep my promises.*

Aaron's "typing" for a long while.

*I should have known.* He writes. *I should have believed you.*

It's years too late but Andrew's chest aches with relief.

*When all this is done, let's talk.* Aaron says. *You don't have to if you don't want to, of course, but I want to. If you do.*

*PS. Happily belated birthday you asshole.

Andrew types: HBD.

How to show a man how he's losing?

Press: Negative, all over the first page of google.

Trends: there's discussion after discussion on the collapse of Moriyama shares.

Social: If vitriol had a personality, it's coming on strong wherever people need to use limited characters.

The cracks are showing.

Nathan no longer smiles for the cameras, he no longer gives statements without his lawyers.

Ichirou refuses to play the game but he’s wearing sunglasses and no further statements come from his holdings.

Of course, that’s when Neil is actually arrested.

When Seth is called up for libel.

When Allison is fired.

When Aaron is shot.

Andrew is raging.

He’s alone and he’s furious.

And he makes the decision to pull a trigger of his own.

This is the final play.

And he’s not going down without a fight.

*****

**Part IX**

Part 8 ended with Andrew standing alone - angry but not defeated as their motley team is pulled apart by lawyers, police and a supposedly 'random' gunman.

Part 9 - the final part - begins on the roof of a building and Andrew ready to jump off it.

Taking a minute to watch the glimmering traffic far below, Andrew remembers how he used to be scared of heights, of falling.

His gut shivers with the memory - but it's nothing like before, like when he used fear to feel alive.

He puts his toes to the edge.

Drops.

Gravity pushes his organs upwards, his breath is snatched away by the air pushing back at him.

He falls, rope unspooling behind him and he twists to take control of the fall, abseiling now.

At the 13th floor he pauses, places a small flat disk on the glass. Drops a floor.

Places another.

He swings round the building, in a dozen and a half corners, he adds another one of the little disks.

He pops a headphone into one ear, presses on and listens.

Inside the building is silence except for the distinctive sound of cleaning - a person humming, the sweep and click of a vaccum cleaner.

He roams through the channels - they all seem to be working.

Time to move out.

*

In a room filled with lawyers, Seth Gordon waits for the verdict on the speech prepared - an apology for the lies and slander he's perpetuated about the Moriyama family and their holdings.

Tomorrow at 3pm he's expected to stand outside and read it - his detraction statement.

It's that or be hit with a defamation suit, they say, what you've done is libellous at best and as it's far from his first strike, there' will be jail time.

Seth grits his teeth, listens to the lawyers.

_If he's going to jail for this story, surely he should go with integrity._

*

Allison Reynolds sits with Renee and Stephanie, listening to their advice.

She's not being sued, not yet. But she's been banned from attending Seth's announcement tomorrow.

She doesn't want to sit out.

Not when this is her story too. Her work and time and effort. Her fault.

Renee soothes a thumb over Allison's knuckles and tells her to keep faith.

Allison tries. But waiting has never been her forte.

She watches the clock and lets Renee feed her a whole bar of Oreo Dairy Milk.

*

Katelyn Minyard sits at her husband's side, her hand in his. She hates this. She hates this. She hates this.

*

In Wymack's house, Neil's phone - left behind during his arrest - lights up with a single digit: 1

And the battery dies.

*

Neil himself is in room best described as a cell: windowless white walls, grey varnished floors, hard to stain and easy to mop. His lip is split and he can't help tonguing it, tasting the sting and metallic tang of blood.

Humming idly, he runs through the entirety of the Black Parade three times before fists bang on the door telling him to shut the fuck up.

"Well do you have a book or something I could read? it's pretty fucking boring in here."

Neil continues to hum.

Twenty minutes later, a magazine is thrown into his cell.

It's an exy magazine.

Two very young, very familiar faces stare back at him.

Riko's death is the cover story, the expose on the relationship between him and Kevin Day.

It's ridiculously apt for what Neil needs.

*

The night turns into day.

9am: six hours until Seth takes to the stage.

The lawyers have agreed on what he needs to say. They leave him in the room to learn his lines.

It'll look better for him, they say, if it doesn't look like he's reading his lines.

*

Lola Malcolm whispers through the slot in Neil's door:

"Junior, do you know what day it is?"

"Wednesday," Neil says.

Lola laughs. "It's Day 0, baby boy. And we're going to have such fun. Just you wait."

Neil's eyes roll. "You say that every time, and oddly enough I'm still waiting for it to be fun."

*

Days like these, Andrew is almost glad he was in foster care with so many shitty latchkey guardians.

Breaking and entering is second nature to him - he takes out the guards who stand in his way and tucks them into dark corners and cupboards.

He's in the Moriyama house.

But there's no one here who scares him.

A jab here, a scuffle there. He's leagues above this shoddy team of guards.

He makes his way to Ichirou's office. Makes himself comfortable behind his desk.

Props a small orb on the table.

And waits.

Each second ticks by like an hour. Each minute feels eternal.

When Ichirou opens the door, Andrew drawls out: "Finally."

Immediately Ichirou is pushed behind two men in dark suits but Andrew shoots them both - once each in the neck with darts made by Abby.

They'll wake up in 10 - 12 hours with no memory of the last week.

Ichirou lunges left. 

Andrew aims the gun at him. "Uh uh, now. We need to have a little talk since you decided to shoot my brother."

"You killed mine."

"Riko killed himself. You, however, shot a doctor and the brother of a veteran. What would the stock market think?"

Ichirou glowers then draws himself upright, smoothing his designer suit.

He's a handsome man - sharp lines softened by carefully tailored edges. He's a perfect construct - a lie within a lie within a lie.

Just like the rest of them.

"I hear your brother is recovering," Ichirou says as if they hadn't just been discussing attempted murder. "I wish him well."

"He was hit in the leg - he lost more blood than anything else. Want to know something interesting though? About that bullet?"

Ichirou raises an eyebrow.

"Not particularly but I'm going to guess you'll tell me."

"You'd be fucking right, I am," Andrew says with a grin.

He pulls out a bullet in a bag - small and misshapen and dark with dried blood.

"You're not an idiot, you know that all guns have a fingerprint - that we can match bullets to the same gun. Any guesses what gun this one matches?"

Ichirou remains silent.

"No? You don't want to guess? Don't you like games? I heard you're particularly fond of Go. Pity."

"This bullet is a perfect match to this one."

Andrew pulls a chain from around his neck, a bullet dangles from it - smooth and clean from constant wear. 

"This went through Kevin Day's head," Andrew says. "Years between shots, but it's identical to the one that hit Aaron."

"And what now? You want to kill me too?"

"Oh no, dying is far too good for a man like you." Andrew tucks Kevin's bullet back under his shirt. "Do you have any idea how much I've wanted to destroy you since the day Kevin died?"

Ichirou doesn't look impressed.

"At first I thought it was just Riko - but he never had that kind of power and certainly no reason to go after Aaron. He wasn't strategic like that. He liked going straight to the source. Why did you want Kevin dead?"

And Ichirou's mouth curls into a beautiful smile.

"You mean you've figured out everything but that? You, who killed your own mother to keep your brother close?"

"That was a car accident."

Ichirou waves a dismissive hand, pacing left then right again, Andrew following his steps with the barrel of the gun.

"I had just succeeded in bringing my brother into the fold - recruiting him - but he would have given it all up to have Kevin back. It was an easy business decision after losing Nathan as my Butcher."

Hearing the truth after so many years feels like relief. Andrew takes a slow blink.

"And Aaron. You mistook him for me."

"A foolish mistake. You asked him to dress as you, I assume? To be outside those offices?"

Andrew's eyes are cold and blank, Ichirou's meet them with ice all the way through.

They are perfectly matched monsters.

Honed by lives spent in violence and shadow.

Ichirou can respect being in check. For now.

"How did you deflect my shot?" Ichirou asks.

"Microelectronics. They distort the shape of the round after it leaves the barrel, changing its line of flight."

"Genius."

Andrew checks the time on the wall.

1pm - two hours left on the count down.

He thinks of Neil, thinks of Seth, thinks of Allison and Wymack and Renee and Dan Wilds with her security team.

He looks at Ichirou. It's time to teach him what’s even more difficult than dying.

He places two fingers on a piece of paper and pushes it forward.

It's a contract signing over everything that the Moriyamas have ever built - the shares, bank accounts, buildings, companies - it'll leave Ichirou penniless.

"Sign this," he says.

Ichirou's smile curves again.

And he leans forward, "No."

"Then this entire conversation is going straight to the FBI and the media and your board of directors."

Andrew taps the orb on the desk. "We've been streaming this whole time."

Ichirou snarls.

And Andrew should have been expecting it - the fight - but for a hot second he'd thought Ichirou might actually be above getting his hands properly dirty.

Turns out, Ichirou fights like a predator - practiced and powerful.

The gun skitters from Andrew's hand under the desk.

Hand to hand it is.

Leaping forward, Andrew and Ichirou lock into battle.

There will only be one winner.

And it's not going to be a Moriyama.

*

Neil spits blood, spits a tooth, spits and wishes he had the energy to aim for Lola's face.

She's skipped her knives so far - preferring to shock him over and over and over with a cattleprod.

His whole body is a jangle of static and pain.

He doesn't know the time.

He doesn't know how long he's been here.

How long he has left until Lola decides she's had enough and moves onto something that could really kill him.

He doesn't know how much longer he'll be conscious.

But he needs to be.

He needs to be.

Everything is curling in and out of focus.

Blood glues shut the lashes of his right eye. When he succeeds in opening it, a red mist clouds his vision.

Lola cocks her head at him.

"You do look so lovely when you're wrecked," she says.

The words slope and blur.

He's going to have to start talking.

He's held his tongue so far - because he knew the police that arrested him belonged to his father.

He opens his mouth and blood drools out of the corners.

*

2pm - Seth Gordon is ushered down the corridors towards the press hall. He'll be kept in the green room until it's time for him to go on stage.

*

230pm

Palm — jaw — floor.

Andrew goes down hard. Roll. Leaps back onto his feet but not yet holding his balance.

The next blow catches him in the ribs and he feels something creak.

He keeps his feet, they circle.

Ichirou's feet position is solid, base low.

His hands stay raised in a fighting stance, palms turned in, unclenched, floating up around his face. A real fighter.

His right eye is a mess - Andrew jellied it earlier with a finger jab.

Andrew's nose is broken. His left shoulder has already been dislocated once and shoved back in.

They're at their limits.

"Sign the papers, Ichirou."

Ichirou drives forward with a punch, still frustratingly agile.

Andrew parries, slides his arms past Ichirou's body and uses the momentum to wrap him in a sleeper hold.

"Sign the papers or have everything you own stripped from you by the carrion out there."

*

238pm

And Neil is talking.

And Lola is laughing.

She's mocking him - how could you be so naive, did you really think the Butcher of Baltimore couldn't bribe a few policemen.

*

And it's 3pm, Seth is stepping out into flashing lights - cameras cracking and blinding.

"I'm here today to address the allegations against me and the stories lately discussing the republican candidate, Nathan Wesninski, his son Nathaniel, and the Moriyama family and it's businesses.

I'm here because of accusations of libel and defamation.

I'm here because..." Seth looks up to see a row of faces - they're grim and expectant.

"I'm here because our city is corrupt," he says. "Because there are people who want to silence the press. And I have the proof of who these men really are."

A tall man, huge really, rises at the back of the hall

Matt Boyd? Is that Matt Boyd? The whispers roll around the hall and Seth nods once as Matt lifts a large box above his head.

For a second there's silence.

For a second Seth thinks none of this has worked and he's definitely going to fucking die in prison and then...

*

Nathan Wesninski stares down at his son, strokes his bloody cheek.

"You were such a disappointment to me. Too much Hatford blood in you."

Neil doesn't try to hold himself upright - any energy he has needs to go on concentrating now.

"Is that why you killed her?"

"Your mother was a whore. You do all this for her and she was worth less than the women on the corner of Wilkens. She never knew her place. Taking you."

"You beat us both. You had me cut open by Lola and DiMaccio. You hurt us both. "

“And now I'll have killed you both."

The hall is deadly quiet as Nathan's voice rings around the room. People aren't talking. They're staring, wide-eyed at Seth.

"Nathaniel Wesninski was arrested yesterday on suspicion of killing his mother. He is an innocent man."

*

Seth explains Nathan Wesninski's role as the Butcher, how he tortured his son as often as his victims, how new evidence showed that all those years Nathaniel spent in captivity were orchestrated by none other than his own father.

"As you heard, so was his mother's death."

In a van outside, Allison and Stephanie are side by side, cutting and splicing the audio to make sure nothing incriminating for Neil or Andrew is included in the feed they're delivering to Matt and Seth. Renee stands guard.

And that's when the word comes in from Andrew.

"Get Neil out of there."

Dan moves into action. She's been itching for this call and they burst down the corridor with their own team and every FBI agent that Wymack's contact could guarantee wasn't corrupt.

Matt Boyd watches this all unfolding - the irascible Seth Gordon isn't anything like he remembers from the few interviews they've done before and he's glad to play a small part in this huge operation.

He can hear the pain in Neil's voice and hopes the kid is okay.

*

Andrew leans against the wall in Ichirou's office.

He is blood-soaked and staring down the barrel of a gun.

Ichirou's corpse is sprawled at his feet. All grace gone from his limbs.

The man glaring Andrew into stillness lowers his weapon slowly.

"You're Andrew Minyard."

Andrew nods.

"Nathaniel told us to come in if you weren't out by 3pm."

The accent is English.

Andrew gathers himself slowly.

"You're his uncle."

"Stuart Hatford, at your service. But not really. Right lads," he calls over his shoulder. "Let's get this place cleared up."

Suddenly... just like that... it's over.

Andrew is done.

The fight is finished.

Ichirou Moriyama is dead. His assets are signed away. His story is on camera.

Nathan Wesninski is in cuffs along with his entourage of serial killers and sadists.

Neil, he hears, is safe.

Seth and Allison have saved the press conference with a little help from an exy star and Dan couldn't be more proud of her husband if Andrew's ear piece has anything to say.

*

In the next few weeks, Wymack will move into the vaccuum of power - they've laid the groundwork, he's someone who can fix this city and won't turn away when there's corruption.

Plus he's a hero - the man who stood by Neil when he had nothing.

Neil and Andrew will heal.

They will be questioned.

They will be questioned again and again.

But their stories are perfect by now and they don't deviate.

Aaron and Katelyn come for dinner - it's awkward but they make it through. Once they've left, Neil rests his head on Andrew's knee and dozes quietly until it's time for bed.

Neil still dances with Mopdrew - but instead of luring bullets, he uses it to tease their cats: the all grown up King and the new calico that Neil insisted on calling Duke.

They're asked for interviews.

They're asked for photographs and autographs.

They always say no.

A quiet life isn't something that really suits them - they both have too much living to do now that they're finally free. But they keep a quiet house and travel, learn to sail, go snowboarding, try out mountain biking. It's a different rush and it feels like safety.

At night, they slide into bed together, Andrew pressing his nose between Neil's shoulderblades and they sooth away the lingering nightmares.

Andrew wants Neil. Neil wants him back.

It's that simple, really.

*****

**X**

**Something of an epilogue**

On a wet night in December, Nathan Wesninski is admitted to hospital. He's met there by a doctor with an English accent.

"This is for Mary," says the doctor.

He slid a needle into the IV tube above the crimp.

Together they watched the air bubble creep along the line, nearing Nathan Wesninski's chest. It would ride his central vein into his heart, causing an embolism.

The doctor stayed to watch him die.

And then Stuart Hatford sent a text to his nephew: It's done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW this one was a long one huh?! 
> 
> Let me know what you think! xx


	15. Hocus Pocus Coffee For Focus - a magic coffee shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There’s a coffee shop in London that’s not quite as it seems. You can order your cappuccino with a shot of charisma, a flat white to boost your memory, add a dollop of whipped cream to calm yourself down on your decaf frappé."
> 
> An AU in which Andrew is looking for real magic and answers to who his father was. Neil is the supernatural barista working in the coffee shop.

There’s a coffee shop in London that’s not quite as it seems.

You can order your cappuccino with a shot of charisma, a flat white to boost your memory, add a dollop of whipped cream to calm yourself down on your decaf frappé.

The shop isn’t always in the one place. Some say it’s outside Wandsworth Town, others swear it’s found between Bethnal Green and Cambridge Heath.

Andrew Minyard found it on Clapham Common, a pop up between the trees.

It’s all tiny lights and enticing smells, he can see pastries through the multicoloured glass.

He’s starving. He goes inside.

Inside is bigger than the outside, but at this point Andrew is used to London being nothing like it seems.

He’s been in the city for three months - ever since graduating Palmetto.

His family is divided.

Kevin returned to Riko.

Purposeless, he’s come here. To London. 

He has an idea to write.

He has an idea to find out about magic - real magic, old magic.

He has an idea to learn about who he is, where his blood comes from.

And it’s all led him here.

To having no words written.

No magic discovered.

No further insights on his bloodline.

He’s about ready to give up when he sees the menu - coffee ranked by strength, by size, by power.

Could this be the real magic he’s been looking for? Something more than the illusions and lies he’s been finding so far?

Behind the counter is a grey man - silver suit, silver hair, silver eyes.

Andrew orders a “hocus pocus coffee for focus”.

The grey man offers it to him with a hint of a smile. And from the first sip, the world seems sharper, the colours brighter. He’s found magic.

And he comes back after that, day after day, trying the menu. Testing the results.

The grey man is there most of the time.

But it’s the days when the boy with the red hair is serving that Andrew has the best results.

The red head is sharp-eyed, sharp-smiled.

When Andrew orders he quirks a sharp brow and says a sharp word and tells Andrew that’s not what he needs today, giving him something entirely different but always delicious.

The red head is Nathaniel.

Andrew hates him - his inhuman beauty, his uncanny knowledge, his clearly magical upbringing.

Andrew needs him - his unnatural insights, his instinctive magic, his unfairly effective coffee.

Within a week of discovering the coffee shop, however, Andrew is finally getting results. He has a lead on who his dad could be after an extra pump of luck. He starts to write. The result isn't awful thanks to the shot of inspiration Nathaniel adds with a simple 'yes or no?'

He feels like maybe he's on the right track. And that's when the coffee shop disappears. He turns up one day and it's just gone.

There's a homeless man feeding pigeons nearby and Andrew asks about the shop.

"Whasshop's tha?" he replied.

"Nevermind," Andrew says. "Here's some feed for your birds."

The homeless man's eyes glint. "Ya cud try the river. There's rumours down there."

Andrew thanks him. He's glad he listened to Nicky then, that you should always try to help those you met in a fairytale.

Down by the river is bleak in November.

The Thames is a winding green-grey snake and Andrew wanders along it taking in the sky and the bridges, the lights going up for Christmas.

None of them are the tiny sparkling lights of the coffee shop with its multicoloured windows.

But something else happens instead.

He's by the Southbank. There's a wind that smells of seaweed and salt off the river, a hint of sugar and sweat from the skateboarders and candy floss stalls.

And there's a man amidst it all.

Short and blond and apparently a stuntman.

He's strong - impossibly so - placing more and more weight on his shoulders. He's charismatic - people can't tear their eyes away from him. He's grinning - and his teeth are wicked white, canines pointed just a little too much.

The smell of coffee hits his nose and there's a quiet 'yes or no?' in his ear.

Nathaniel stands next to him, two cups in his hands.

"That one's spiked with a little confidence, just in case," explains the barista.

"How did you..." he doesn't finish the question. "Thank you."

Nathaniel smiles. It's breathtaking for a moment before it falls. Looks like he wants to say something but decided against it.

"Go," he says. "I'll see you soon."

The coffee does its job. Andrew goes to stand in front of the performer. When the show takes a pause, he steps forward and introduces himself. It's the man's turn to stare.

They go for mulled cider and talk. His name is Arthur and he carries sidhe blood - _púcaí_ blood - old harbingers of good or bad luck.

Everything he says makes sense to Andrew. The physical strength. The unwanted attention. Their height. The times Andrew woke up less than human.

When they leave, they make no promises.

Andrew doesn't know if he ever wants to see this man again and he can see the feeling is mutual.

This is a creature with no interest in the progeny left behind, willing to talk but whose eyes constantly found their way to the door. 

Andrew isn't disappointed. He wasn't expecting anything. He has his answers. He can let Aaron know. Maybe explain to Nicky, since it was his pestering that gave Andrew the idea in the first place.

He's walking, aimless, when multicoloured lights shimmer over the puddles at his feet, he looks up.

It's the coffee shop.

Inside, Nathaniel is behind the counter. His eyes are bright when he sees Andrew, though there's a bruise on his jaw that wasn't there earlier.

"What happened?" Andrew asks.

"Disagreement with the manager," Nathaniel says but he doesn't seem worried. "All sorted now."

Andrew doesn't like the sound of that but he trusts Nathaniel - annoying as he might be - to handle his own problems with the Grey Man.

"So you know what you are now," Nathaniel says. "What are you going to do next?"

Andrew notices the curl of Nathaniel's lips, the knowing look in his eye. "You already know."

The curl turns into a grin. "I do."

"Seer?"

"Something like that."

"So if I-"

"Yes."

"Okay then," Andrew says. "I'll pick you up at six thirty."

"In the maserati?"

Andrew narrows his eyes. "Your gift is going to be terribly annoying isn't it?"

"Keeps me alive."

"Not if you keep using it on me."

"Oh, you don't know, maybe it'll grow on you."

Andrew has a sneaking suspicion that it already has.

**-THE END-**


	16. The Monster Under The Bed AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you sleep with your hand dangling at the side of your bed, the monster under it will hold it while you sleep." But I made it Andreil.

Imagine Andrew, seven years old and terrified of who might come into his room tonight.

Then baby-monster Neil accidentally becomes Andrew's Guardian Demon when he decides to sneak away from hell and his father but ends up under Andrew's bed.

Neil ends up holding Andrew's hand, promising to keep him safe from the humans.

"Monsters are supposed to be scary," Neil tells Andrew. "Humans need to stop being mean to each other and let us monsters do our jobs."

It's a rant he's heard his father make a hundred times.

And yes, I seriously think Andrew Minyard is the sort of weirdly unlucky boy to end up with a Guardian Demon not an Angel.

And that's where this story is going.

Ok and one day Andrew spills some smuggled skittles but Neil collects the ones that rolled under the bed and offers them back to him.

Andrew takes them, but then he gives three back.

Neil is super confused about why.

_Are they payment? What are these weird colourful beads?_

"Are you paying me?"

"I'm feeding you."

"I'm meant to eat these? They're very small. What's in them?"

"Huh?"

"What do you normally eat?"

*silence from under the bed*

"Do you eat... people?"

"No!"

"Then what do you eat?"

"Well... nightmares. Yours are pretty heavy."

*

When Andrew is moved, he's sad to leave his monster under the bed.

Neil says it's ok, he'll find him.

Weeks pass.

Andrew thinks he's really lost.

Until one day he drops his pillow on the floor and he can't reach.

"Here you go," Neil's voice says from the dark.

Andrew smiles.

*

They grow up together. 

There's a reason why Andrew is such a demonically good goal keeper. If you look carefully, the balls never actually strike Andrew - there's a millimetre, a fraction of a second, where an unnatural force is protecting him. 

Even when Andrew does nothing, Neil is there like: *ain't nobody fucking with my human, he wants this weird net thing defended, consider it done bitches*

And there are other times, quiet times, with Andrew falling asleep on the couch and his foot slipping off the side and Neil just - very very - carefully pushes it back onto the cushions and pulls the blanket over him, tucking in Andrew's feet properly this time.

Andrew loves his monster and when Neil goes to move away, he reaches for the clawed hand and holds it. 

"Stay," he says. 

Neil always stays.


	17. Soft Gangsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil and Andrew are two gangsters living in London. On Sundays, however, they like to go to Columbia Flower Market and hold hands and pretend that the rest of the world doesn't exist.

Neil and Andrew are two gangsters living in London. 

On Sundays, however, they like to go to Columbia Flower Market and hold hands and pretend that the rest of the world doesn't exist. 

That's it. Just soft gangster boyfriends being soft.

Okay no actually - there's more. 

Because Andrew loves watching Neil picking through the flowers, selecting each stem as carefully as he might choose a knife before cutting someone's ear off. It's amazing to watch those hands work.

Because Neil loves that Andrew has a thing for succulents, not because they're spiky but because they're resilient. because they survive and grow when nothing should. 

Because Andrew assesses each seller and haggles according to how honest they seem.

Because Neil always gravitates towards the most colourful flowers and Andrew always takes home the ones that every other person thinks is hideous, often giving them to Nicky to nurture. 

Because they'll go to the pub and Andrew will order Neil a lager shandy without laughing.

Because Andrew will always check on google to make sure the plants aren't poisonous to cats and Neil will deliberately seek out the ones that cats can eat.

Because in their horrible, broken, violent lives, they find time each week for each other, flowers are just an excuse.


	18. The Shinty AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing SHINTY! The AU. 
> 
> Starring: Neil with a light scottish accent and Andrew with a giant crush for his neighbour. 
> 
> Because it's THAT kind of morning.

In which Neil fled America after his mother died and ended up in Scotland, whereupon he discovered Shinty. Another violent, bastard sport somewhere between lacrosse and hockey.

He touches base with Stuart who forges him some A-Levels so Neil can attend Edinburgh.

Neil ends up on the Edinburgh University shinty team - relishing how close it is to exy (not to mention how damn good it feels to play.

In his third year, he find out there’s an international tour of exy teams visiting Europe.

Part of this tour is the Foxes.

Kevin and Andrew are part of it.

Andrew only agreed because of Nicky, who begged them to all come because that way they could spend some more time with Erik, who can easily pop over from Germany. So far he can’t say he’s impressed. Edinburgh is grey and cold and gothic and he’s not in the mood for socialising.

The Foxes, however, are staying Marchmont.

Wymack has organised offsite accommodation because god knows the foxes won’t play nice in they’re in halls with Ravens. They’re all in one block of 1850s flats on Thirlstane Rd - the Monsters in one, the others a floor below and Wymack guarding be ground floor just in case of break outs (which inevitably happen).

Thing is there’s one floor that isn’t theirs.

The top floor.

Which belongs to Neil, his very fluffy-not-fat-okay-both cat, and two room mates.Trouble begins on the second night where a post-shinty Neil comes home with a black and a split eyebrow and the world’s widest grin. He’s carrying a deadly looking shinty stick - and Andrew, on his way for a smoke, spots him.

There are days that pass where Andrew tries to engage Neil. It mostly results in much teasing from Neil because of how soft exy teams are for wearing armour and helmets. Turns out shinty players use gumguards for their teeth and that's about it - Andrew can't say he's not impressed. 

But it's summer and Neil is intrigued. He remembers loving exy once upon a time.

There are many nights with Neil taking Andrew and the Monsters out to explore Edinburgh. Cowgate. Grassmarket.

The speakeasy underneath a barber's shop. The Jazz Bar. Introducing them to Snax - £5 for a full english breakfast fry up with haggish and black pudding.

Neil ends up coming to watch exy games and only slightly wishing he was playing - mostly because he loves a good game rather than because he needs it.

Andrew drags Kevin to shinty matches because, "You might learn something about not being a coward."

Kevin grumbling because that joke is _*old*_ now but he knows Andrew uses insults to hide that he wants something.

[time passes]

The Foxes don't win the international tour that year but they do come second to Kayleigh Day's old team from Ireland, so they can't begrudge that.

Andrew and Neil go on a long amble through Edinburgh the night after they lose - the streets are black and glossy with earlier rain. The air is crisp and cold. People are singing and laughing along South Bridge.

At some point Neil holds out his hand and Andrew takes it.

At some point Andrew crowds Neil against a wall and Neil waits for Andrew to kiss him before kissing back.

At some point Neil suggests they stay in touch over the next year.

At some point Andrew says _yes_.


	19. The Ghost Fox AU - a premise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My name is Nathaniel Wesninski," says the ghost. "And I need you to save Kevin Day."
> 
> In which Neil is a ghost fox that's haunting Andrew, who just so happens to be a medium.

Andrew Minyard has always been able to see ghosts. They’re just there. Some upset, some terrified, some confused, most are boring as fuck - they’re just sad people who need to be told to move on.

So Andrew does his bit, tells them to follow the light etc etc

Andrew hates this gift-curse - it’s caused more than enough trouble. For years, he was forced onto a cocktail of anti-psychotics. Everyone thought he was mad. When he met Aaron (jealous because the gift skipped over him) and Nicky (a much weaker medium but aware of the spirits).

He hates this gift-curse. Which is why he gets the tattoos: rings of power on his dominant hand, a Celtic sleeve concealing protection runes against the dead, an arrow on his left forearm, ensuring if he needs a weapon it will land true. He wears iron rings and carries salt.

His life is fairly uneventful, all in all.

There’s an occasional angry phantom to tussle with, but he quite enjoys a fight. Nicky insists that he’s strong, that’s why he’s so good.

He meets Renee at Palmetto, who may not be a psychopomp but she’s fairly deadly for a witch. She teaches him as much as she can.

Andrew feels pretty bored with the state of things.

He figures he’ll play exy, study criminology, go to work in some kind of investigative capacity and talk to ghosts to make sure the dead had a voice.

And that’s when he meets the fox.

It’s sitting by his car, happy as can be for an animal that’s clearly possessed.

The ice blue eyes give it away.

“You’re dead,” Andrew says. “Leave the Fox alone and follow the pretty lights.”

The Fox cocks its head but nothing changes.

Fox becomes his shadow for the next couple weeks. Andrew tries everything to end the possession- nothing works. He’s just decided to ignore the Fox when he runs into a particularly gnarly shroud of ghouls. They’re twisted things and the fight with them is harder than most.

For a moment his world narrows down to the ghouls and his fists, his salted knives and the ravaging maws of his attackers.

His tattoos burn on his skin. The arrow of his arm almost shines. When a clawed hand skims his face, the Fox lunges, latches its jaws on the ghost - and it should be impossible but somehow the fox's teeth sink into paranormal flesh.

When the ghouls are salted and gone, Andrew turns to the animal.

"Are you fucking stupid?" He says.

The Fox wraps its tail around its feet. Tongue flicking out over its black stained muzzle. * _Yes_ *, it seems to say.

For another few days the fox dogs Andrew's steps.

But he's being annoying now. Andrew comes home and the fox has left pawprints all through his apartment.

He gets out of the shower and the fox is there drinking from the loo.

He goes to class and the Fox chitters the whole way.

At night the fox sings outside his window - tuneless and screaming. It's drawing attention towards Andrew and he's fuming.

He redoubles his efforts to make the spirit disappear.

Nothing.

Ever.

Works.

"What the fuck do you even want?" Andrew asks, finally sick of being haunted.

The fox looks pointedly at his hand.

On his left middle finger is a ring that stops the dead from speaking to him.

Andrew takes it off. The fox is gone in a blink.

Instead there's a boy.

Ethereal. Demonic.

All angles and edges and colours.

Andrew hasn't ever seen a ghost that looks quite so... undead.

"My name is Nathaniel Wesninski," says the ghost. "And I need you to save Kevin Day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one feels like the beginning of a story. What do you think? Shall I pick this one up again?


	20. Neil Runs a Pub AU - a premise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short idea for a story about the five times Andrew tried to get Neil to share his secret sticky toffee recipe and the one time it worked (kinda). Set in rural England where Neil runs a pub.

Neil runs a pub in rural England.

Andrew visits with Nicky and Erik, but when he tastes the sticky toffee pudding, he knows he needs the cook to share the recipe.

Too bad it’s Neil Josten’s prize-winning recipe and he has no intention of sharing family secrets.

Andrew - a former athlete turned successful author of crime novels, offers to buy the recipe, which Neil rejects.

Nicky tries to pull the celebrity card for Andrew and Neil isn’t just _done_ , he’s livid.

Smart-mouth engaged.

Andrew’s ire piqued.

But something Neil says gives Andrew an idea:

Neil: "Just because you’re short Mr Minyard, does not mean you have to act like a child. It’s not cute and it won’t get you what you want."

So what _will_ get him what he wants?

AKA. the five times Andrew tried to get Neil to share his secret sticky toffee recipe and the one time it worked (kinda).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one would be so sweet and fluffy - just like a sticky toffee pudding - maybe we should revisit this!
> 
> What do you think?


	21. Supernatural powers - a premise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An idea for a rewrite of the series but in a world in which unusual abilities aren't that usual, although people who have them generally stay on the down low. Neil Josten happens to be one of them. And so does Andrew Minyard.

In which unusual abilities aren't that usual, although people who have them generally stay on the down low.

Neil Josten just happens to be one of them.

And so does Andrew Minyard.

Neil is an invisible boy - sometimes - and not usually by choice.

Mostly it seems to happen when he's feeling particularly stressed or afraid.

First he'll go a little transparent at the edges, a little hazy, and then --pop-- he's gone.

At Millport he's mostly had it under control - turns out exy helps him feel real and solid. Or it did until Hernandez confronts him with Wymack and his offer, making his edges blur and haze.

 _Run, hide, run hide._ That's all Neil can think.

And then Andrew Minyard swings a racquet at his gut and in an instant Neil is gone.

Slipped out of sight, choking and invisible.

"Where did he go?"

"No where, coach." Andrew steps forward, not quite touching.

And Neil realises he's solid again, staring up and terrified again.

Turns out Andrew is a Void. Anyone with powers, anything that's been powered, loses it's mojo when Andrew gets too close. He's a blank-faced, blank-eyed, empty space.

*

_Basically an AU in which a few things are the same, and a lot is different._

Andrew's interest peaks when Neil's edges waver on the Ferdinand Show but solidify when defending Kevin.

Neil realising Andrew projects _all_ the time because all he's ever wanted is to make people _stop_. 

Neil learning to control his invisibility - using it when he wants to rather than because he's scared.

Andrew letting Neil turn him invisible - just to see if he can, and even though it means not projecting his Void.

 _What about the others?_ Wymack being able to see glimpses of a person's past and future. Aaron, Andrew's opposite, being able to augment everyone's powers. Kevin, whose brain can calculate and predict in seconds and drinks to try to slow down to everyone else's level. Nicky and Matt as different kinds of empath. Dan as impenetrable. Renee whose nails literally turn into knives and Allison who can change any of her features to match those she's seen within the last 24hrs. Seth - well - he hears the dead and it drives him nuts.


	22. A Series of Premises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of ideas that may still be turned into an AU or a full fic - or might not. We will see.

**ONE**

Working title: Still Solve You.

Alternative title: The Dead Do Speak Andrew is a detective.

Neil is a forensic pathologist. Neil can also talk to the dead, getting clues about how people died from speaking to ghosts. Andrew knows something is off about this weird man who always knows too much - but he just can’t work out what.

Vibe: somewhere between Karin Slaughter, Sarah Hilary and Jane Casey with a tonne of magical realism and pure magic thrown in. And andreil.

**TWO**

One-shot in which King the cat narrates about Andrew and Neil's first proper Christmas, with all the tomfoolery that ensues. Including: 

  * Sir tangled in tinsel
  * King stealing the star
  * Nicky giving squishes
  * Aaron secretly sharing bacon from the brussells
  * Neil tiptoeing on Christmas eve to hide an extra present beneath the tree
  * Andrew sneaking in early in on Christmas morning to do the same
  * King and Sir competing to bat the most baubles
  * Neil and Andrew opening gifts rather awkwardly
  * Both of them got the other a ring



**THREE**

How to lose a guy in 10 days AU

But where Neil is a plucky journalist, writing an article because he wants to prove his investigative chops. And Andrew is a determined exec whose boss makes him a dubious bet to win a campaign. Hijinks and nightmare fuel but really what we want to see is Andrew scream-singing You're So Vain at Neil in front of an audience. 

**FOUR**

Andrew is possessed by a demon. It doesn't control him but it does like to chat in his head, just to let him know it's still there. Like an imaginary friend.

Neil is a demon. He doesn't want to go back to hell and hiding in Andrew's head seems like a great idea.

Or it does. Until Drake. Andrew begs Neil to take control, to kill Drake.

Neil, being a rather young and inexperienced demon, admits he has no idea what he's doing.

Andrew helps train Neil into taking over his body.

Neil realises Andrew is a better demon than he is. 

An AU in which a human learns demonics and a demon learns humanism and we're all in for my favourite brand of body-horror mixed with some much underrated comic hellspawn.

**FIVE**

The sky turned red on a Tuesday and no one knows why or how to fix it.

Except, possibly, climate scientist Andrew Minyard. But why should he bother making people listen when they never have before?

Enter Neil Josten, an acerbic and well-known reporter better known for his start in exy, later ‘accident’ and loss of his lower right leg, and return as a sports blogger turned political journalist. Neil has a suspicion about the sky. He’s been hunting this story, this family, for years. He also suspects Andrew holds the key.

Shame they’ve not spoken since Baltimore and the night Neil lost his leg then isn’t it?

**SIX**

A short drabble where Neil and Andrew bump into each other five years before PSU, both trying to buy the same cactus from a flower shop.

_Neil_ (called Alex and blond): I’ve already named it Ozzy.

_Andrew_ : well I need it as a weapon.

_Neil_ : *curious* tell me more.


	23. The Cleaner - An Interior Design AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Neil is an interior designer by day and a "Cleaner" for the Hatfords by night. Hijinks and much decorating ensue. Also there's a slow dance with Andrew and Neil.

**Part I**

Neil never stayed in Millport, he listened to his mom and kept running, kept running, kept running - until he was so exhausted that he ended up calling his uncle.

Years later, he’s a ‘Cleaner’ - an eye for detail helping him to tidy up crime scenes for the Family.

Or at least he is by night.

By day he’s running a small personal business - as an interior designer.

He’s not quite sure how it escalated - he hung a few photos in a cousin’s house, helped paint some windows, and suddenly he’s the guy the Family turn to for an aesthetic.

Neil travels a lot - he doesn’t like to stay in one place, no where he sleeps feels like home.

Which is why he got permission to work with non-criminals - he wants to design homes. He loves creating spaces to be used for living, for reading, for cooking, for snoozing.

And that’s how he meets Nicky Klose nee Hemmick (and yes that’s how Nicky introduced himself, grinning ear-to-ear and showing off his wedding band) and ends up designing his new home with Erik.

They want something modern but not minimal, Scandinavian but still a bit Bohemian.

“You know, like us,” Nicky says.

“Didn’t you play exy with Kevin Day?”

Nicky’s mouth is so wide Neil can’t help worrying that his jaw might fall off. “Oh yes I did! You a fan?”

“No.”

“Don’t be shy - I did play with Kevin, you might even call us friends.” There’s something off in his tone, right about his smile - Neil ignores it, tries on a smile of his own and takes a look at the space

Neil doesn’t think Nicky and bohemian really mix - maybe more shabby chic - but he sees what he needs to see and gets to work.

By the next week, Nicky’s living room is transformed - there’s exposed floorboards, a wall of art takes up a feature space, a basket of logs sits by the fireplace, the colours are cool and bright and not too perfect.

Nicky loves it.

Neil designs his whole house next.

The thing that strikes him are t photos - Nicky has them everywhere.

Photos of recognisable faces: mostly Foxes. Including Kevin.

Photos of him and Erik and Erik’s parents.

Photos of their wedding with two surly blondes in the front row of Nicky’s party.

Neil likes to find spaces for all of these - making sure that both halves of the couple have reminders of family and the people they care about in unexpected but welcoming places.

“I know you travel,” Nicky says one day when Neil’s been freed of paints and is sipping tea before heading home. “If you ever go to the US, let me know, I’m sure there are some Foxes who’d love a cute thing like you.”

Neil frowns. “As a designer?”

“Sure, that’s what I mean.”

Nicky looks at Neil so fondly after that, he has to excuse himself - he doesn’t know how long he’ll be in Germany and whilst this has been nice, he can’t have friends. He never gets to keep them.

There are several jobs that month for the Hatfords - both translation and Cleaning.

Neil tries not to think about how Nicky would recoil if he really knew who he was.

Months later, Neil is in London when he gets a call.

 _Nicky_.

Letting it go to voicemail, Neil listens to the message a few hours later.

He discovers Allison Reynolds needs a designer for her new shop in London. If he can give her call then Nicky’s given him a reference. Neil’s surprised but not too much so - he gives Allison a call.

They meet for the first time in Covent Garden - the Christmas lights are just going up and the whole world feels illusory.

Her shop is just off the Seven Dials and she shows Neil the space with a proud flint in her eyes but a more perceptive look directed at him.

“I don’t usually do commercial.”

“I don’t want commercial. This brand is about lifestyle. I want this whole place to feel like it could be home. Like people shopping here are entering somewhere cosy but clean, welcoming but full of challenges.”

Neil can do that.

Actually, he kinda smashes it - and Allison ends up insisting on him coming to the launch party dressed in her latest line too.

He likes Allison so he accepts. She's acerbic and honest. She doesn't pretend anything with him. She knows who she is and where she wants to go. Whereas Neil has only just begun to realise that he has no idea who he is or where he's going. He's been on a treadmill his whole life - running, running, running, but on the spot, just trying to survive. Never really seeing the world.

Allison makes him reflect on places he's been, what he thought of them, whether he liked them or loathed them or would ever go back.

He'd like to go back to America, he tells her. (Doesn’t tell her that there are ghosts to exorcise there).

Dressing better than ever thanks to Allison's tender-loving-criticism, Neil drinks a single flute of champagne and her party and actually lets Nicky and Erik hug him when they show up and he thinks he might have enjoyed talking to Matt Boyd and Dan Wilds too.

Allison is close to her Foxes - she jokes that she's a Slytherin, driven by ambition and people.

She jokes that Neil's one of those people now, he won't shake her off like he tried to with Nicky.

Neil realises he hopes she's right.

That launch party opens a number of doors that Neil wasn't expecting either.

When he tells his uncle he's been invited to South Carolina by Boyd and Wilds, he's given time to go.

"We might call on you, kiddo, but I'll try not to."

Neil appreciates the offer.

Boyd and Wilds are about to become Boyd and Boyd.

Their wedding is mere months away but they've decided to host the reception at their new home as it borders a forest and is close to a quaint little log cabin village that they can rent for most of their guests to stay in.

They want their home to feel like a home before the wedding.

They want to ensure the spare rooms are welcoming for their parents (which is really Boyd's mom and their old coach, David Wymack.

They have a vision and probably don't need Neil really - but he's happy to help.

The house is easy to turn into a home - there's already a warmth about the place that Neil brings to life through a modern take on a rustic theme.

He focuses on creating spaces for large gatherings - transforms the kitchen into a place for socialising, cooking, conversation. Antiques are everything here - contrasting against more contemporary accents because whilst Matt and Dan are quintessentially partnered, valuing family and certain ideals, their lives are vibrant and forward-facing. Neil likes it here with them. He likes it a lot.

He likes it until he gets the call.

There's a job in Columbia - Neil's to go to a club called Eden's Twilight and make sure what will happen looks like it never happened.

There's a chill on his skin, in his bones. A numbness in his chest.

"I'll be back in a couple days," he tells Matt and Dan. "Gonna check out some feature pieces at an expo, you know how it goes."

They look at him - see the distance in his gaze, the hollowness of his smile. It's a look you'd see on one of the Fox recruits: lamb-like sacrificial.

But they can't stop him - have no right to try - so Neil rents a truck and sets off, picking up the equipment he needs from a neutral before heading towards Eden's.

When the night arrives, Neil dresses in an outfit Allison would be proud of - tight black jeans, a loose black shirt, gold septum ring, hair pushed out of his eyes.

He sits at the bar, ignores the flirtations of Ronald or Regan or whatever the man's name is.

Watches.

Waits.

He has to wait a while, nursing a whiskey that he allows Rupert or Ryland or whatever his name is to top up once.

He checks his phone.

Nothing yet.

He wishes he had a cigarette. Asks Rogan if there's anywhere to buy them.

"No need to buy any, my break's in ten."

"I'd rather get my own."

Turns out there's a dispenser in the men's - he goes to find it, nearly being knocked over by a short, angry blond as he enters.

Neil buys menthols by accident, stares at them glumly.

Still nothing on his shitty phone.

He goes outside.

Short Blond And Angry is out there too, standing in a pool of orange light, hair bright as a halo, smoking unfurling from his mouth like a dragon.

Neil recognises him, realisation sharp as a knife - _except, no._

This is pain and it's in his side and...

"Oh," Neil says, looking down. He's been stabbed. This actually is a knife, just beneath his right ribs and the hand holding it is trying to pull it free.

"Don't do that," he tells his attacker, wraps fingers around their wrist to stop them, then quick as anything, pulls his own blade free whilst pressing a thumb into the stranger's pressure points, causing him to yelp and let go.

The attacker isn't familiar to Neil but they're young and inexperienced because they've definitely missed anything Neil would consider important. He's able to twist away and crash upwards with the hilt of his knife going straight into the man's temple. The man drops.

Neil groans. His shirt is totally ruined. Allison will be so annoyed with him.

But there's no time to think about the knife in his side yet - he has to clean up this mess first.

And that's when he remembers Small Blond And Angry.

Andrew Minyard - starting goalie for the Denver Outlaws, Nicky's cousin, Allison's former team mate, Matt's irregular boxing partner - is standing metres away, knife in one hand, cigarette in the other, having watched the entire thing.

Not good.

Protocol says Neil should tie up the loose ends.

Protocol says Andrew Minyard should have a recorded time of death in the next minute.

Protocol also says Neil shouldn’t have been a target. No one should have known he was here except for his uncle and Family.

“If you walk away,” Neil says. “I’ll ignore you were here. No need to get caught up in this.”

Andrew Minyard stares at him a moment longer, lifts two fingers in a mocking salute and vanishes back inside, taking with him the small of cigarettes and cedar wood.

Neil finishes the job.

Stitches himself together again.

Tells his uncle to take him off duty in America - he's not sure who set them up but he's not walking into a trap again.

Stuart can't make any promises.

Neil can't find it in himself to care.

He goes back to Matt and Dan, paints walls, takes painkillers, varnishes wood, tries not to tear his stitches, moves furniture, regrets nothing, he's fine.

When he finishes, he's exhausted and proud and promises to come back for the wedding in six weeks.

Those six weeks are busy and tense.

Whilst the Hatfords try to find out who put a hit out on their Cleaner, Neil visits Allison in New York and helps remodel her flagship store. She tries to take him to an exy game - one of Kevin's - and Neil recoils.

"Nicky says you're a fan," she says as explanation.

"Not a fan," Neil says. "I just met him once, as a kid. At the Nest."

Allison's face goes very still. "You played with him?"

"Once. I was six or seven I think. Little leagues."

She looks caught between worry and anger. Everyone knows by now what the Nest was like. They heard the story of Jean Moreau - saved at the last second. They heard the truth of Kevin's hand - smashed to pieces by Riko. They heard the reality of who Riko was, how he was raised - the extent of the abuse in the Nest. Tetsuji's trial had been blasted around the sporting world. His death by suicide had been widely disputed, conspiracies abounding. So Allison's expression is one of horror but understanding.

"Would you have been like Kevin?"

"I would have been like Jean."

She nods. She gets it. She's seen glimpses of Neil's scars, noticed how he holds himself apart.

Neil lets her have these pieces of truth.

"He'll be at the wedding."

"I know," Neil says. "But there will be plenty of people there. It'll be fine."

Allison hums. "I'll make sure you're dressed appropriately."

It's her way of saying she'll look after Neil. Neil smiles and agrees, scars aching, knives heavy.

He's not really worried about Kevin, after all. He's worried about Small Blond And Angry. Andrew Minyard, who saw him kill a man with three moves. Andrew Minyard, who's eyes were gold and sharp and assessing.

The day of the wedding arrives.

Neil looks stunning - the suit Allison found being a deep black-almost-blue over a grey waistcoat, all perfectly tailored.

She says it makes his eyes pop.

He's inclined to believe her - he can hardly meet his father's gaze in the mirror.

Matt freaks out as they near the little lakeside church and Neil (*why?* he laments) is helping calm him down.

"Of course, she's too good for you," Neil assures Matt. "She's smart and gorgeous and talented. But she chose you, so believe her when she says this is what she wants."

The wedding is beautiful - all tiny lights and sumptuous flowers.

Neil can't help but notice that there's not many escape exits but plenty of places to hide.

Wymack walks a radiant Dan down the aisle.

Matt cries during the vows.

Allison wins a ridiculous amount of money.

Kevin Day is there as predicted.

As are the twins - both Minyards have an eye on Neil and he's not enjoying the attention, especially since he has no idea why the doctor twin would care anyway.

Neil tries to give them a wide berth.

That was never going to work.

Especially not when Kevin spots him and goes white.

"Nathaniel..."

"Neil. I've not been Nathaniel in a long time."

Kevin doesn't ask how he's alive or where he's been. He just gapes.

"You're as gormless off court as I remember then," Neil says. "Congrats on making Court."

Spluttering, stammering, Kevin takes a second to recover. His face turns pink, then his eyes water, then he's laughing.

"And you're as mouthy as ever. Fuck, *Neil*, where have you been?"

And for a second Neil dares to hope this whole party could be normal, could be _fun_.

But before Neil can say anything - before he can really breathe - there's a sharp, gold, assessing gaze staring him down, a finger pressed to the tip of his chin.

Neil looks down his nose, going almost cross-eyed.

"The fuck?" Kevin says, "Andrew?"

"Hello killer," Andrew says to Neil. "Fancy seeing you here."

**Part II**

Neil stares down his nose.

Andrew glares up at him. “Hello killer, fancy seeing you here.”

Neil takes a step forward into Andrew’s space, grin tipping up the corners of his mouth. “Hi.”

There’s something about the way Neil moves, something about the stance he takes, intimate without intimidating.

Kevin is confused. He knows Andrew - or did. They’ve barely spoken since Riko’s trial.

He can’t tell if this is really weird flirting or even weirder threatening.

Andrew’s thumb is pushing against Neil’s carotid, his index holding Neil’s chin. The two of them make quite a pair.

“Fancy a dance?” Neil says. He lays his left hand palm up. It’s a genuine offer.

Kevin thinks Andrew’s gonna punch him.

Andrew takes Neil’s hand instead.

“We’ll reminisce later, Kevin,” Neil calls back as Andrew starts to lead him away (okay drag him).

Kevin just stares. He’s not sure what’s happening. Not sure he wants to know either.

There’s a dance floor to one side of the reception - Matt and Dan haven’t left it since the music started.

Nor has Nicky until he sees Andrew and Neil.

Squealing, Nicky rushes over to Neil and crushes him into one of the patented hugs that honestly Neil kinda missed.

“Oh my gawd Neil I heard you did everything for the house. It looks superb. Did you help with the wedding too? I guess maybe that’s less your thing. When are you coming back to Germany? Are you going to come back? How have you been anyway? We miss you being around you know. We—“

“Nicky.” For such an apathetic tone, Andrew sure managed to capture a lot of irritation.

“Andrew!" Nicky did not care about the glare, he hugged his cousin but noticeably more tentatively than Neil. “Wait are you two dancing? You’re dancing? Oh my gaaaawd.”

“You did say you thought I’d get along with your cousins.”

Nicky frowns. “Did I?”

“Actually that was me,” Erik says, popping his head over Nicky’s. “Hey maus, mind if I steal Nicky back?”

Neil beamed at him but as soon as he and Andrew were alone again, the smile vanished.

Andrew’s hand was still in his, fingers uncomfortably tight.

Turning, Neil quirked his head and Andrew’s other hand slipped to his waist, landing right over the recently healed stab wound.

Neil swallowed, hovered his free arm by Andrew’s shoulder. “This okay?”

Andrew’s passivity doesn’t break, though the impression of *something* ripples beneath the surface.

“Yes,” he says.

And then they are dancing.

Neither of them can call themselves great dancers but they’re not awful - or wouldn’t be if only they could relax into the beat. Instead, Andrew is hissing questions against the shell of Neil’s ear and Neil is murmuring back his answers between sarcasm and rolled eyes.

_“No I’m not a hitman._

_No I’m not here to kill Kevin - if I did that who would win the Olympics for us?_

_No I think you’ll find I was stabbed first._

_No I was outside to kill time not some random guy I didn’t even recognise._

_No — wait. A former Raven? You’re sure?”_

Andrew spins Neil out, then tugs him back in close, hands so tight on his hips Neil’s sure he must feel the scarred skin beneath his clothes.

“I’m sure. That was Reacher, former backliner.”

“But...” Neil frowns. “Why would the Moriyamas go after me now?”

“You tell me, killer.”

“Gosh you’re dramatic, aren’t you?”

Neil let’s himself be spun again, tries not to think about how natural it is to be caught by Andrew’s arms each time. The man might be small, blond and angry but he’s strong - every time he catches Neil in the dance, the power is undeniable.

“I’m not meant to be a target. I’m...” Neil hesitates. He’s so used to lying but Andrew will see right through him, so he shares what’s least offensive. “I’m a Cleaner. You know what that is?”

“You tidy up after the mob.”

“I make sure no one gets caught. No one.”

Neil wants Andrew to get this. To understand.

“I’m basically Switzerland. My job isn’t to set anyone up. I’m just there to make sure no one knows anything happened at all. Leave no trace. Do no harm.”

“You killed that guy.”

“He stabbed me first,” Neil grumbles again.

Andrew looks pensive.

The music changes. Slows.

Andrew’s hands on Neil’s hips loosen but before Neil can pull away, Andrew has shifted closer again: warm and solid and fierce.

“Switzerland.” Andrew might sound amused but it’s hard to tell.

The rest of the wedding reception is a bit of a blur.

Andrew vanishes after the slow dance and Neil definitely doesn’t feel this as a loss. He does slip away to call Stuart about Reacher - but dodges the question about how he identified the man by mentioning exy. He also ignores the way his uncle orders him to come back to London, hanging up and going back to Matt and Dan - dancing with both of them for a couple songs before retreating to the bar.

He has one glass of fizz, then a second.

And then the world tilts.

“Bloody buggering fuck,” he thinks or maybe he said it aloud.

He manages to get to his feet, manages to get to the loos, manages to curl up by the porcelain god after forcing himself to be ill.

His only question: _who who who who._

His only answer: _Andrew Andrew Andrew Andrew._

No one else has any reason to try to drug him, surely.

But he doesn’t want to believe that.

The world is shattered lights and warping colours. His arms feel too heavy. There’s a painting - a print of a Matisse - on the walls. It looks like it’s dancing in front of his eyes.

_Nathaniel. Nathaniel._

Neil whimpers, regrets it. No one would call him that. Only Kevin knows that name here. But now they know where he is and —

The door handle rattles and Neil’s skull rattles with it. Facing death never comes easy - not to someone who specialises in running, surviving. So Neil tries to gather his limbs, his thoughts - they’re oil-slicked, distending away from him, drifting out of reach.

He’s aware of the door.

He’s aware of noises - a thud and a judder.

He’s wretching again when the door opens.

Blond hair, furious eyes.

Neil hates being right.

Except. Wait. He’s not right.

There’s a body by the door.

And Andrew isn’t there alone.

His twin is next to him, they’re talking to him, but the words elide and make no sense.

Dimly, he recognises Andrew ordering his brother to take him upstairs, away from the party. Neil tries to tell Andrew how to hide the body but the man rolls his eyes.

This isn’t Andrew’s first rodeo.

So Neil's put to bed and Aaron leaves him with water and an inscrutable frown.

Neil sleeps when he realises that the door is locked and he's safe.

The next morning, he's not alone.

Andrew is slumped in a chair in the corner - legs thrown over the arms and head crooked into an elbow. He's asleep, tucked up in a coat jacket that Neil dimly recognises as his own.

Taking a moment to piece the night together, Neil realises that Andrew had saved him from someone who shouldn't have been there - someone who must have hidden amongst the staff because there was no way Matt and Dan had gang ties (at least none other than Kevin and Neil).

Neil sits up slowly - slowly - Andrew wakes up as soon as the bed sheets rustle. His eyes are still sharp and angry. His face is still a mask that Neil can't decipher.

"For a cleaner, you create a lot of mess," Andrew says, no pre-amble, no questions on how Neil is or if he's okay now.

Neil isn't okay now. He feels like his mouth is made of fur and his head is pounding.

Still he asks, "Did you know him?"

Andrew nods. "Another Raven."

It doesn't make any sense.

All Neil has done this side of the Atlantic is decorate the homes and shops of former Foxes.

And all he's ever heard about the Moriyamas is that they have a deal with the Hatfords, an agreement around the death of Nathan Wesninski.

Without thinking, his hand rubs at the scars on his chest. His waistcoat was removed, shirt loosened, he knows Andrew must have seen glimpses of his scars by now but can't bring himself to care. It's been a long time since he thought of them as something to hide.

There's something furious in Andrew's expression when Neil looks at him again.

Neil sighs, realises he should have known he couldn't have this - these friends like Allison and Nicky and Matt and Dan and Erik.

He certainly couldn't when all he did was endanger them.

"Pass my phone," Neil asks. What he really wants is water and two ibuprofen but he's survived worse. "I'll call a cab, book a flight."

"You're running."

"Just going... back to London."

 _Not home_. Neil's only ever seen a home when he's finished with other people's houses.

"Kevin will be so disappointed."

"He won't even notice."

"He wanted to hire you after seeing this place."

"Kevin cares about the interior design of where he lives? Really?"

"He might not, but Jeremy does."

"Jeremy."

"Jean too."

"Jean Moreau?"

"No. Jean Valjean"

It takes Neil a minute to realise Andrew's made a joke.

Huffing a laugh, he sinks back against the pillows. He'd love water right now.

"This sounds like an invitation, Andrew."

"I'm just passing on a message."

"Sure you are. You're a natural owl." says Neil. "Look, clearly I'm just attracting problems right now. None of you need that."

"Perhaps not, but you're interesting. And you owe me."

"Owe you?"

"I saved you last night."

"And I spared you six weeks ago."

"You really think you'd win?" Andrew's mouth twitches. 

Neil's lifts in response, the expression wicked and deadly. "Oh I know it."

There's a flash in Andrew's eyes, a blow through his pupils.

Neil's voice drops to a purr. "You know, there are easier ways to flirt too."

And down come Andrew's gates, up go his walls.

The flashes of emotion vanish behind a mask so perfect that Neil almost thinks he imagined that Andrew was anything but the unfeeling goalie from the Denver Outlaws.

"Shower," Andrew tells him before leaving. "You stink."

Andrew is gone when Neil emerges downstairs. Matt and Dan left the house in Wymack's hands now they've left for their honeymoon and Neil finds himself being fed and watered before being given Kevin's card and instructions to call him.

Half way to the airport, Neil does call. Kevin says exactly what Andrew told him - he wants to redo the house he's bought with Jeremy and Jean.

Given it'll mean heading over to the west coast, Neil's reluctant. He still remembers the smell of his mother's bones in the sand.

But eventually Kevin nags him into agreement.

Neil needs to go back to London first but he'll come back in a couple months to help Kevin out.

If Kevin is annoyed it'll take that much time before Neil can come, he doesn't say.

*

The flight is bumpy and long.

The first month in London is spent under almost lock and key - Stuart has feelers out everywhere trying to find out why the Moriyamas would target Neil.

News comes: Ichirou insists it's not the main house. Neil has been nothing to them in nearly a decade. But Tetsuji is dead. Riko is in a psychiatric unit thanks to the testimony of Kevin Day. So why Ravens? So why Neil?

Neil refuses to stay cooped up any longer.

*

Confirming details with Kevin, Neil books his flight, boards the plane, touches down in California.

His whole body aches with memory as the hot wind and stink of gasoline whirl around him on the crossing from tarmac to terminal.

Surprisingly, it's not Kevin who picks Neil up from the airport but Jean.

They don't say much - despite never meeting as kids, they know who the other would have been to them in the Nest.

"Tell me what you're after," Neil asks.

Jean frowns. "We want to build a home."

Neil knows his expression must be hollow because Jean understands and doesn't say anything more.

Turns out Jeremy has more of a vision. He has mood board and aesthetics for every room and none of them match but Neil enjoys walking through the ideas, finding out what Jeremy really wants and what he thinks would suit the three of them and what really works holistically. Jeremy doesn't have much of an eye for space whereas Jean clearly does - so Neil goes through the ideas, looking at how to create more balance.

Industrial feels like the right style for them - rustic and mature - cleanly exposed but full of comfortable nooks.

A home they can live in - that has breathing room, that's as practical and driven as the three of them, but also has plenty of area dedicated to being together.

Kevin is the funny one with Neil being there.

He wants to reminisce, as Neil joked at the wedding. He wants to know if Neil misses exy (yes, of course, yes), and where he travelled (everywhere, all over the world), and if anything is happening with him and Andrew (wait what?!).

"Well," Kevin says with a nervy shuffle. "He hasn't really spoken to me in years. Not off court. Not since Riko. And now he's coming down here just cos I mentioned you in a message... whatever you're doing with him, I'm okay about it. For now. But you better not fuck with him."

Brows rising, Neil stares at Kevin. "Are you trying to give me the shovel talk?"

"No," Kevin says. "I'm warning you that Andrew is dangerous when he wants to be."

"Are you forgetting who I am, Kevin? I'm dangerous too."

"It was only a warning."

Andrew arrives the next day.

He invites himself in and sits in silence, sipping coffee whilst Neil putters through the house, moving this table and that chair and gathering paints here or there to do this next and that tomorrow.

Kevin talks to Andrew.

Jean and Jeremy make themselves scarce.

Andrew sometimes answers back. He clearly delights in frustrating Kevin, refusing to talk about exy and fingers dancing over his armbands when Kevin brings up Riko.

Kevin sighs. "What do you want, Andrew?"

Andrew's eyes drift over to Neil - Kevin follows his gaze. 

Neil is perched at the top of a ladder, scrubbing a wall to expose the brick below. He looks a state - sweaty and sleeves rolled up and skin flushed, curls damp and wild.

Andrew says, "He's a problem."

"Your type always is," Kevin says. There's no regret about what he and Andrew were to each other in college. They just weren't enough for each other.

"Do you keep track of any of the other Ravens? The ones that went down with Riko?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because he won't." Andrew's eyes flicker towards Neil again. "And it seems some of them have been causing problems for our idiot British mobster over there."

Kevin considers this. Recognises Andrew’s brand of intrigue and concern.

“I keep in touch with Thea - she works with some of the others still but no one knew about Nathaniel except us - me and Riko and Tetsuji. He was meant to be sold to us, if he passed his second test.”

“Neil,” Andrew corrects.

“Yes. Neil.” Kevin feels a wave of guilt. He knows how much names mean. But he still has that vision of a child, with and fast with the biggest eyes he’d ever seen.

“What about the main branch?”

“They never cared. Ravens were assets, that’s all.”

Now Andrew had already checked that Riko was still locked up.

He knew that Tetsuji was definitely dead.

“So it has to be someone who wants to mislead Neil and his family. Maybe a rival gang who wants to set the Moriyamas against the Hatfords. Why else choose Ravens...”

"If it is, you really want to get involved? This is the mafia, the yakuza."

Kevin doesn't really blink at the implication that Neil is involved in this stuff - he should have guessed given that the guy was still alive and free from the Nest, living openly in his own skin.

When Andrew remains silent, however, his thoughts turn to the way Neil works - so thoughtfully learning what he needs from Jeremy and Jean, the pride that flits over his face when he finishes something, the longing that sometimes steals his smile before he leaves each night.

"He could have been a Fox," Kevin says. "Wymack would have made him fucking captain."

"Of course, this is about exy for you."

"He would have been with us at Evermore. Should have played and made Perfect Court if he was any good."

"At least he doesn't have your tramp stamp."

*

Andrew stays that night and the next and the next.

When Neil goes to his AirBnB at night, Andrew drives him.

Kevin doesn't ask what they talk about.

Doesn't ask either when Andrew stops coming back afterwards.

Nor when Andrew's stuff leaves the spare bedroom one night.

Neil and Andrew, on the other hand, do ask questions of each other.

They have a game that they play between cigarettes, where they exchange secrets that are barely secrets anymore - truths that they just prefer not to tell anyone else.

They talk all night sometimes, falling asleep on their respective corners of the sofa.

Sometimes if Neil falls first, Andrew tucks him to bed.

Andrew doesn't know what it is - what draws him to this man, murderer, mess of a human - but at some point he promised to keep Neil safe. And at some point, Neil promised to give him the truth. It's a deal they both benefit from on paper, but neither really need - perhaps that's why it feels so right.

Every so often, there's a call from Stuart - it always goes the same, with updates first and chastisements second. The Family want Neil home. Neil closes down every time the word is used.

Andrew notices this - notices and recognises the wistfulness, the loneliness, the acceptance because Neil (really, truly, painfully) believes this is all there is for him - being a pawn in a machine, a tool to be sent where necessary.

"This is the longest I've ever been in one place," Neil confesses one night. "And I hate California."

"So do I," Andrew admits. He blows smoke through his nose and Neil leans into it with a shiver. "This whole damn State can burn."

*

When they come home on a Thursday, there's a dead Fox nailed to their door.

"They're threatening you," Neil says. He looks exhausted.

"Ravens tactics again, they did this to us in second year."

"We need to move."

Andrew likes Neil's use of the first-person plural.

When they move, it's into an apartment with two bedrooms. They still end up on the sofas, Neil more often than not drifting off with his feet tucked under Andrew's thighs.

It'll be exy season soon.

Kevin's house is almost finished.

Neil's only waiting for the moment where the rooms sigh and settle into being a home.

Some final touches are made.

The day arrives too fast.

There's a small celebration that night - Kevin hugs Neil goodbye, as does Jeremy. Jean shakes his hand.

Andrew takes them back to the AirBnB. His car is a violent snarl in the road.

When they open the door, they're greeted by destruction.

Everything has been ripped apart.

Everything has been splashed with what smells like blood and waste.

Neil sighs. He's handled worse.

He makes a call.

"I need a second pair of hands," he tells Stuart.

Andrew doesn't leave, even when two more Cleaners arrive. Neil has done his best to hide Andrew's face behind a bandana.

"This could take a couple hours," Neil tells him. "You can go for ice cream if you prefer."

"And let you get into trouble on your own. No way, killer."

It's a good thing he didn't.

Because almost as soon as the Cleaners as in the door, Neil is on the floor - spasming as a electricity bursts through his nerves.

Andrew has moments to react.

And with that moment, he draws a knife and throws.

**Part III**

Neil writhes on the floor. Andrew's knife loops through the air. Two strangers, possibly assassins stand blocking their exits.

Andrew fills with the sudden realisation that even if Renee taught him how to fight, throwing a knife is not the same thing.

The knife spins once in the air, twice.

The handle thuds against the stranger's shoulder, clattering to the floor.

Fuck, Andrew thinks. But it's okay, he carries more than one silly knife and at least now the attacker has taken their hand off the taser in their shock.

There's a moment when the only sound is Neil gasping for breath.

Then beneath his makeshift mask, Andrew grins, and the fight really begins.

It is a battle of flashing blades and thunderous fists. There are moments where Andrew seems airborne. His body coiling and exploding into punches that are too fast, his knees and elbows as deadly as his fists.

Stirring, Neil drags himself away from the flurry of limbs. His hand touches something cold. Andrew's thrown knife. He doesn't have much chance to think - there's a second assailant after all and now that Neil is regaining movement, he's a threat again too.

One that the other fake Cleaner thinks he can take out. He's wrong.

If Andrew's fight is a dance, then Neil's is a dervish.

And he's fought in conditions far worse than a little taser than give him.

He launches into action, wielding Andrew's knife and making light work of this much bigger man.

The great thing about being small in a fight is being able to spear anything into a man's jaw, to be able to upper cut straight into a throat.

Neil crushes the man's windpipe.

Neil filets from carotid to jugular.

There's blood on the ruined sofa. On the walls. Across Neil's face.

Andrew glimpses him, feels an ache that's ferocious and proud and oh so very _interested -_ perhaps they really could match in a fight - but then a blow across his jaw lands, distraction costing him.

But Andrew isn’t alone.

Neil is moving towards him - but hell if he’s going to let Neil kill both of these goons - Andrew twists around, hooking his leg up and taking the man down fast.

He scrambles on top, bashes their head against the floor, slashes a knife across their eye. He wants to know who they work for. The man however is howling. Andrew knows it’s more important to not get caught right now, so he slams their head down once more and twists, cracks, snaps their neck.

It’s over.

Neil stares at Andrew. Andrew stares back.

They’re both breathing heavily, little twitches in Neil’s hands giving away the injury he’s sustained.

“Take a photo,” Neil says.

“What?”

“Their faces. We’ll send them to my uncle. What you thought I was saying my face would last longer than you staring?”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Andrew, I’m surprised I haven’t got bore holes in my skull from your glare.”

Andrew takes the photos, sends them to Neil who forwards them on again. Stuart is quick to respond despite the time zones - clearly on alert since Neil’s earlier call. New Cleaners are on their way, he tells them, get out of there and let them handle it.

Neil’s first instinct is to find the dingiest motel that Andrew has ever seen.

Andrew vetoes this unmentionable hole and spins them downtown - quickly booking them into a plush suite with a shower so big that Neil actually gapes.

“We don’t need this.”

“I’m a world class athlete,” Andrew deadpans. “I need this.”

It wouldn’t do, afterall, if he was seen sneaking into a sleazy motel but a place like this? With a guy like Neil?

Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow’s lobby saw a nosy fan or two.

They shower - and Andrew resists the temptation to follow Neil or invite him in - then order room service.

There are two beds but Neil is still twitchy and curls up at the foot of Andrew’s as they finish eating.

They end up sleeping side by side - Andrew’s back to the wall, Neil’s forehead just touching Andrew’s chest when he roles over, like a cat seeking the best sun.

Andrew lets himself curl a protective arm around Neil’s shoulders and drifts in and out until morning.

When they separate, it’s with a twinge of reluctance on Neil’s part - he’s never been held like this, not once in his memory. He’s secure and safe and warm and it takes a moment for him to draw back from those feelings. It’s Andrew’s turn to call him out for staring.

The question lurks beneath the surface - where do they go from here?

Kevin’s house is a home at last.

Exy season starts soon and Andrew is needed up north for practice.

Neil should go back to London. Go back to his pretty cages and away from the mess in America.

He doesn’t want to go.

If he was honest - which Neil never has been - he would admit he doesn’t want to leave Andrew.

Instead, he sags back against the pillows with relief when Andrew says, “So do you want to do my place next?”

Brushing a red, wayward curl back into place, Andrew huffs. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Yeah, yes." Neil has bruises where he was struck the night before but the tremors have gone and his face lights up when he looks at Andrew.

Andrew hates him. He's ridiculous.

They leave the hotel after a breakfast where Andrew sees at least one camera phone turn their way.

He's okay with this - responds to Neil's raised eyebrow with a single nod over coffee.

They leave just after eleven, driving to Denver - north east down memory lane.

"I've been through here," Neil says as they rumble out of the city and onto open road. Andrew glances at him, which Neil takes as wordless permission to continue.

He tells Andrew about the cities he went through with his mom, back alleys and tourist stops and sketchy city buses.

He tells him about growing up always looking over his shoulder, always worrying about his father.

He tells him about burying his mother in the black sand of California.

Most of his memories are stained with tension and fear, but he doesn't water that down - not with Andrew.

Andrew opens up as well - these are new stories about moving to Columbia from California, about Nicky taking him and Aaron on after Tilda's demise, about Wymack and the Foxes, his ill-timed relationship with Kevin and the fall out after Riko's trial.

Kevin's testimony had asked for leniency - to allow Riko to go into a treatment facility - a wish that had eventually been granted after years through the courts.

"He deserved prison."

"He is in prison," Neil says. "Last I heard from Stuart, he's in a psychiatric unit and he sees the sky once a day."

"He'll be released eventually."

"Maybe but probably not, his family don't want him running around telling tales."

They move on.

Talk of Denver. Talk of Andrew's apartment, which he wants Neil to work on.

It sounds small and functional and Neil already knows what he could do with it when Andrew suggests that Neil first helps him find somewhere bigger.

Neil frowns. "You know I'm not an estate agent? I know nothing about property."

Andrew shrugs. "If I'm spending money on decorating, let's make it somewhere I want to live."

They pick up brochures from various agents along their route.

Neil dogears the options that he thinks feel most like Andrew. There's one in particular that he loves - but it's a small house not an apartment, probably more than Andrew would even want. He saves it anyway.

The first week is spent shortlisting a new place for Andrew.

The second throwing all of them out and starting again.

Sometime between the first night and the second, the two of them started sleeping in the one bed - Andrew has a huge King after all, so no need Neil to risk sofa-neck.

Neil keeps the small house in his pile of possible suggestions, never quite brave enough to actually show Andrew. He doesn't know why he's hesitating - it just feels strange to share something that's not in scope anyway.

Week two is also when they get the call from Stuart - they've identified the fake Cleaners.

The person trying to kill Neil appears to be Lola Malcolm, one of the Butcher's inner circle and apparently determined to start a gang war between the Hatfords and Moriyamas.

Andrew pieces the story together: killing Neil, making it look like Ravens - it would mean destroying the family that destroyed Nathan (the Hatfords) and betraying the family that betrayed Nathan (the Moriyamas).

"And she, no doubt, can try to step into the power void."

For the first time since Andrew's known him, Neil looks small and wan, like his strings have been cut.

"Come on," he says. "Cigarette."

They smoke. Neil's body slowly uncurls, shoulders levelling out. Mood lifting.

If their shoulders press together, Andrew's not complaining.

Neil doesn't warn Andrew away.

Andrew doesn't offer meaningless reassurances.

They lean into each other and then their fingers brush, Andrew silently asks for Neil's hand. They link their fingers together, palms sliding into palms, jagged edges matching jagged hollows.

Stuart tells them to hang tight and not to do anything stupid.

Andrew snorts and Neil wonders why he has the sudden urge to touch Andrew's face, to rub a thumb across that cheek as it softens, just slightly, with humour.

That night, Neil calls Allison. He's looking through a pile of colour swatches that he think could work well for a living room wherever Andrew ends up.

He explains that he's been feeling weird around Andrew.

"How so? Is he making you uncomfortable?" She sounds worried.

Neil is quick to reassure.

But when he describes wanting to touch Andrew, feeling safe with him, feeling kind of flushed and warm around him, Allison actually laughs. "You, my silly lamb, have a crush."

"But," Neil thinks about it. "Allison, I don't swing. I don't."

"Well maybe you do for Andrew. Urgh, I’ll need to judge your taste so much more from now on. Thank god your sense of design is better than your sense in men."

Neil hangs up that night, a smile on his face, and a colour palette he just _knows_ will fit Andrew.

It's funny - from the outside some may assume Andrew Minyard was a minimalist - all hard contemporary lines against an industrial frame. Brutal. Unforgiving. Masculine. And okay, he's definitely masculine, but Andrew likes comfort. He likes warmth and books and soft retreats.

The designs Neil draws up don’t get much reaction from Andrew - a hum or a shrug or a quirk or his eyebrow. That’s okay - Neil knows what these micro expressions mean and he plans accordingly. He finds materials first - since there’s no official furniture yet really.

And then one day, when Neil comes home with an arm full of fabrics (linens and velvets and wools) - he finds Andrew looking at Neil’s worn image of the little house just out of town. He places the fabrics down. Stands and waits for Andrew’s verdict.

"You didn't show me this."

"It's not for rent so..." Neil trails off.

The truth is he isn't sure how he'd feel if Andrew moved there without him. He's beginning to think Allison is right. He has a crush on Andrew.

"I'm signed here for another two years at least," Andrew muses. "We should go take a look."

So they do.

Neil tries to be enthusiastic in the run up - tries to keep his spiralling thoughts to himself. _Andrew hasn't ever given him a sign that he's interested back. Has he_?

Neil tries to decipher the casual touches, the way Andrew draws him close in sleep. Fails.

He angsts and frets and keeps getting distracted by the sudden desire to try kissing Andrew.

His eyes will linger on Andrew's mouth.

His body will seek more contact before he's consciously thought about it.

And they're driving to the house that Neil knows will be perfect.

Andrew can feel Neil's anxiety too - notices the gaze that holds just a little longer than before, the questions lurking just behind bright blue eyes. The ride over to the house is quiet for once. Neil's fidgeting is almost amusing.

Arriving, they step out and Andrew hears the way Neil's breath catches - it's a sound of delight, of wonder. He tries to grab for it, tucking it into his memory. The house is small, set in green, and reminiscent of a farmhouse - there's space to build out if he wanted.

Inside, there’s an intimacy to all of the spaces that immediately feels right. It's so bright, so warm. The main floor is completely open to the upper level, bringing light into the full space. The windows are large and high, tilted south for the sun.

"So you could have this space as a living room - and if you knocked through this wall then you could have a really wonderful kitchen-dining room."

Neil has started talking. He bleeds from build back into interior design.

"Use Moroccan tile here, patterned rugs, pillows..."

"This could be a home, Andrew," he says and there it is - that tone of wistful, lonely, horrible longing.

Andrew reaches for Neil's hand, breathes easier when Neil accepts and a little of that pain ebbs away.

He hates Neil then because, he's so stupidly gone for him. And the idiot doesn’t even realise.

Andrew says as much and Neil frowns.

"You don't like the Moroccan rug idea?"

And he looks so crestfallen, so foolishly concerned, that Andrew doesn't stop himself from moving forward, from pushing Neil back against the wall, crowding so close that their noses brush.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he tells Neil.

Neil only gasps when he does just that.

It's not a kiss for the history books - it's awkward and their noses bump and their teeth clack and Neil has no idea what to do with his hands and Andrew's torn up between aggression and need.

It's over sooner than either would like - but their eyes catch and they're kissing again.

Less awkward this time.

Andrew catches Neil's wrists and pins them by his head, Neil kisses back and nips at Andrew's lower lip and for an idiot, he's a fast learner –

But it's a lot.

It's a lot when they're looking round a house that could be _theirs_ but they've not even officially started dating yet.

"I hate the Moroccan rugs," Andrew says, pulling away because he knows he's the one that needs to stop things going too far too soon.

They make it round the rest of the house - Neil pointing out places for certain pieces of furniture, sharing ideas for colour and style.

"Where are you in this?" Andrew asks.

Neil's grin is a beautiful thing. "Looks like you'll be getting those Moroccan rugs."

*

Conversations are had, offers are put in, money is exchanged, furniture is bought, kisses are shared, space is made in cupboards and drawers.

Neil tells Stuart that he's going to stay in the USA, even though the Family won't like it.

"Look, I can do more translation and less Cleaning. I'll still do my bit but I'll do it from here. In Denver." Neil insists.

"I'm just saying that Pa Jack isn't going to like it."

But Pa Jack doesn't get to decide this. Neil gets to decide this.

And he's choosing Andrew.

He’s choosing to stay

*

Of course, that's when Lola makes her move.

Neil comes home to the flat that's nearly packed up and finds Andrew sprawled on the floor - not dead, not yet, but bleeding from a head wound.

Neil does his best to check him over, but he can hear someone in the next room.

They must have heard him arrive home too.

Reaching for a weapon, any weapon, Neil finds Andrew's exy racquet in the doorway.

He lifts the oversized stick and appreciates the heft of it.

He has his knives, of course he does, but this should give him a little more reach.

Lola waits for him in the living room. She's flipping through a book on early modern aesthetics, ripping pages as she goes.

"You've made my life so very very difficult, Junior, and then I find out that you're a glorified decorator living with a fucking --"

"Don't finish that sentence," Neil warns. "Andrew has nothing to do with this."

"Oh I don't know about that. Apparently he's killed quite a few of my favourite little birdies."

"Your sources are wrong."

"Are they now?"

Her smile is thin as garrote wire, a blood red line.

There's movement behind Neil, he's able to swing the racquet in time to catch Romero in the shoulder. The struggle that ensues is brutal and short - Neil isn't used to hefting the weight of a racquet this size and Romero and Lola make an impossible duo. Neil is cornered.

What comes next is cruelty - there are knives applied to battered skin, there are words hissed that carve into a soul.

But then there's an opening.

A scuffling sound, a groan. Andrew is stirring and it's enough of a call for Lola's attention that Neil is able to wrench free, wrench upwards, snatch at the blade that's been playing at his skin and twist—

He gets Romero through the eye. The man screams like a hound from hell.

Lola's hands are immediately around Neil's throat.

She's pinning him down again, knees on his arms. She's got hands around Neil's throat.

_He's not breathing. He's not breathing. He's not breathing._

Andrew's racquet crushes her skull when it hits.

Andrew is a vengeful beast - blond stained, eyes ringed red, teeth flashing in a snarl. He brings the racquet down again, again.

Lola is dead. Neil is gasping, lungs rattling. Romero twitches in his death throes.

Andrew sways, sinks to his knees beside Neil.

One pupil is blown and they're going to need a hospital for that concussion.

"Better call a Cleaner," Andrew says.

Neil loops an arm around Andrew's shoulder, draws him down and close and safe. For a quiet moment, they lie between the bodies, breathing each other in and holding on to the person they call home.

*

Andrew doesn't make it back to the first week of practice.

Nor the second.

Nor the third.

The concussion - which they blame on a car accident - persists until the end of September.

When they move house, he's still wobbly and spends more time watching Neil magic the place into being *theirs* than he does helping.

Neither of them mind. Neil is in his element. Andrew has a great view of, well, all of Neil.

It's because of this concussion that he's home alone one afternoon - Neil off buying a new set of bookshelves - and hears the tiny mewls from beneath the patio stoop.

Two tiny kittens, crawling over each other and crying, eyes still blue, more mud than fluff.

Andrew washes them in the sink, rubs them down with a flannel, creates a little nest for them between his crossed legs as he feeds them one at a time from a turkey baster.

Neil finds them like that - cosy on the sofa, tv turned down, Andrew looking steadier than he has in weeks whilst two balls of fur snooze between his hands. He thinks of a time only weeks ago when this would have been impossible for him to imagine. His heart swells.

Stuart sorts any remaining parts of the Lola problem.

The Moriyamas send a curt note to remind Neil to behave.

Neil's new scars heal.

Andrew's head recovers.

The kittens turn into two cats.

Their house grows into a home.

(And if Neil makes sure to varnish the floors and scotchguard the carpet just to make Cleaning easier - just in case - no one needs to know.)

**-THE END-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: how about a cute little AU about interior design.
> 
> Brain: let's add murder 
> 
> Me: what
> 
> Brain: make him stab a guy
> 
> Me: wait what why
> 
> Brain: his boyfriend will see it happen and fall in love
> 
> Me: whaahsdjjsdh
> 
> Brain: You're gonna love it
> 
> Me: really not, why are we doing this


	24. Bloom and Wither

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil is an empathic necromancer running a small florist called Bloom and Wither. Andrew is a mysterious customer who belongs to the Foxhole Sanctuary. 
> 
> AKA my take on the florist / necromancer trope with a few battles and winged warriors thrown in.

**Part I**

Neil is an empathic necromancer running a small florist called Bloom and Wither.

He’s run the place ever since he escaped his father and the Moriyamas. How? by turning his power on them - making them feel everything their victims felt, destroying their minds.

All he wanted once he was free was a little beauty everyday - flowers that he could encourage and nurture and love and finally pass along to someone who needed them. Instead most of the orders are for Guilt Flowers - flowers of apology, deceit, pretence, adulterous desire.

Right up until he meets Andrew Minyard - who comes in looking for glass flowers for Bee.

Neil can’t get much of a reading on Andrew. It’s like looking into a scrying bowl and only seeing a reflection - he knows there’s more but it’s hidden, defended, unknowable.

So he has to ask about the flowers - which never happens - he has to talk to Andrew to understand what he wants, ask questions how he feels towards this Bee, listen for the nuances in Andrew’s voice and aura as he describes what he has in mind.

“I thought you were meant to be psychic.” Andrew had chosen this shop because Nicky said he wouldn’t have to even talk.

“Empath,” Neil corrects. “But your mental shields are very high. It’s hard to read you.”

“Sure I’m not just heartless?”

Neil smiles, “Absolutely sure.”

Andrew isn’t mad impressed by this - not the smile, not the surety, not the way his heart thumps unsteadily when Neil meets his gaze - but the fact that Neil isn’t able to do his tricks on him makes him smirk. Right up until Neil starts presenting his flowers:

There’s tiny glass hydrangeas for heartfelt thanks.

There’s purple irises for wisdom.

There’s blue ones for hope.

There’s sprigs it thyme for recovery and strength.

Andrew feels seen and he doesn’t like it. Not at all.

"The fuck is this, psychic?"

"Empath," Neil corrects again, frowning. "Am I wrong?"

And Andrew doesn't lie, but he can't take these tiny magic flowers - even when they tinkle so prettily against each other, even when they're perfect for Bee.

He storms away. He raged back.

Drops six silver coins on the counter. Snatches the tiny glass flowers from Neil's hand.

"Fuck you very much," he says, leaving.

Neil remains standing, stupidly pretty face creased with confusion.

"You're welcome?" Neil says to the empty shop as the doorbell jingles shut.

*

The funny thing is - [Andrew comes back](https://twitter.com/chryseos1/status/1197213088119971840?s=20).

Again and again.

Always asking for flowers for his Bee.

And they're never Guilt Flowers.

They're flowers for new moons and full moons.

Flowers for solstices and equinoxes.

Flowers for celebration, for thanks, for appreciation, for affection.

Andrew always answers Neil's questions truthfully. Neil always sees Andrew's heart.

 _He must love her, this Bee, very very much._ That's what Neil knows from the answers Andrew gives and the emotions wrapped around Andrew's words. _Andrew loves her._

Neil doesn't quite understand why that makes him so very very gloomy sometimes - in the lull after Andrew leaves, when he feels so pressingly, painfully, alone.

There are a few other things, however, that distract Neil from thinking too hard about how Andrew makes him feel. Namely, that he's beginning to realise that Andrew is far more than what he seems. The way he dresses gives away that he's a Magic of some kind - there's the whorls sewn into his sleeves, the jacket that's just a little too black to be simple leather, the fact that he carries knives imbued with _some kind_ of spirit energy.

The direction he travels is also quite telling - he comes from down river, from the direction of the forest where Neil knows there's a sanctuary. Of sorts. The people from there are all tough - the type of folk you don't mess with. They're trained to fight, to protect.

It's why Neil chose this village to set up shop - because it's only minutes from the Foxhole.

The proximity of a sanctuary like that can only be a boon to someone like him, who attracts trouble like birds to berries.

Andrew is one of them, he's sure of it.

There comes a day when another man comes in who looks like Andrew but absolutely isn't because he's broadcasting guilt like a fucking dog who stole the cheesecake.

Neil doesn't take long with the flowers - the man is surly and silent and he needs blooms for apology, repentance, forgiveness.

_Purple hyacinth, rue anemone, star-of-Bethlehem._

Flowers Neil keeps in abundance.

When Andrew does return, maybe a week later, he has grazed knuckles and a split lip, but his mood is unreadable as ever.

Neil asks what he wants.

Turns out it's pink carnations because Andrew needs something to say "unforgettable".

 _He really loves Bee,_ Neil thinks.

"I think I met your brother," he says before Andrew leaves, pink flowers in hand.

"Aaron?" Andrew's brows furrow.

Neil shrugs, he doesn't really know what else to say. "We didn't speak. He needed hyacinths."

Andrew's eyes narrow. "Interesting."

For a moment their gazes are locked.

And Neil's never noticed Andrew's eye colour before. But, _huh_ , they're like honey or sunlight through leaves just before they drop. Gold and bright and definitely magic.

And then Andrew is gone.

Out the door. Away.

He's gone a long long time.

*

Weeks go by.

The summer ends and autumn falls and the leaves turn gold as Andrew's eyes and then they're crunched into the ground, into mush and mud, and winter creeps in.

Cold, grey, empty.

Still, even as the seasons turn, Neil's flower shop remains a splash of impossible colours in the middle of a monochrome world.

Andrew doesn't come back but Aaron does.

It's funny how they're so similar on the outside and so different within - Aaron is infatuated and guilt-ridden, he knows he's being deceitful but can't bring himself to stop.

The feelings are so loud. _So so loud._

More people come by - there's a dangerous girl called Renee whose heart won't let her forgive herself; there's a snake-ish young man called Seth who looks cruel but loves deeply; there's Kevin Day, a former regular, who finally seems ready to move forward with his life.

There's Dan Wilds and Matt Boyd, who come to discuss a hand-fasting in Spring. Neil likes when they visit, their chests are so full of each other. His shop feels sun-drenched as soon as they step inside.

And there's Betsy, motherly and discomforting, who comes once a week for prayer leaves and sage and lavender. She longs for the safe return of her son, frets over him whilst he's gone _._

 _She's part fey,_ Neil is sure of that _, like Lola_. Her eyes see too much for a mere witch.

*

It's a regular morning when Andrew stumbles into the shop. He stinks like a distillery and his face is awfully blank. Rage pours from him, thick and heavy - the most Neil has ever felt from him.

"Andrew," Neil says, moving to him without thinking.

He stops shy of touching, feeling Andrew's repulsion like a slap in a face. He doesn't understand why it hurts but it does.

The way Neil recoils sets Andrew's teeth on edge - the ways he stopped without needing to be asked.

"You killed them," Andrew says, slurs. Oh, he knows he's drunk, drunk, drunk.

Neil flinches, hands fluttering to his chest, rubbing at scars Andrew knows are there.

He knows because he's been dealing with certain forces looking for a certain red-headed witch.

He knows because he's just faced down a villain that he'd long assumed dead.

"And I killed him," Andrew says, slurs, oh this is irritating, being so drunk. "And now he's back. Now he's back.” Drake is back. “And so are _they_." The Moriyamas and their butcher - maddened and raised from their graves by a necromancer.

Neil is a necromancer.

"Did you do it? Did you bring them back?"

Neil is very pale and very pretty and very pissed off. His nervous hands are balled up now, knuckles white. "No, I didn't bring anyone back. I don't use that magic. And if I'm guessing your meaning right, I certainly wouldn't raise the people who tried to destroy me when they couldn't control me. Andrew, what the hell is going on?"

Andrew staggered against the wall, narrowly avoiding careening into an assortment of flowers.

This time Neil does grab him by the collar, carefully not touching but tugging hard enough to push him into a seat instead of standing.

"Drink this," Neil says, thrusting a strong smelling green juice into his hands. "I'm not having this conversation with you drunk."

The temptation to tip it out, to pour it onto the floor or splash it into Neil's face is loud in Andrew's head.

Neil takes a step back. "Don't even think about it."

Andrew realises he's broadcasting. The empath can feel him. He knocks back the juice, gags.

It tastes as green as it looks - bitter and leafy and he's horribly sober, horribly fast.

"Now this for the hangover."

They're across from each other - Neil standing against the counter, Andrew sat against the wall, gold eyes meeting blue. Andrew remembers the last time he saw Neil - the forlorn aura around him like Andrew leaving was a loss.

"There," Neil says with a wan smile. "You're quiet again now. Feel better?"

Not really, Andrew wants to say. Doesn't. He's still raging. He's still reeling.

Drake is alive.

The Butcher is alive.

The Raven Court has risen.

"We need to have a little chat, psychic," Andrew says. "Before whatever mess you're part of reaches Palmetto."

"Empath," Neil corrects and quirks an eyebrow. "And I'm fairly certain it's not just my mess, is it? If you're involved."

Andrew hates him, but he's right.

"But you should start talking," Neil says. "Because I have a feeling there's a story here and whatever it is, you're going to need my help."

He twirls a poppy between his fingers - deepest red, darkest promise.

**Part II**

Part 2 begins like so: Neil's eyes open slowly to slits.

_Fuck. Everything hurts._

Blood mats his lashes.

Blood is in his ears and mouth.

His head swims. There's a red haze in his vision.

His hands are bound behind his back. Of course they are. Of fucking course they are.

But he's still in his shop - lilies and gladioli leaning towards him expectantly.

 _I'm not fucking dead yet_ , he thinks, glowering at his plants. _Stop it._

But he's an empath, not a herbologist, and the plants do not listen. They tilt their white bodies towards him, as if they want his blood to stain their petals pink. 

_Probably do, the greedy things._

He takes an inventory of his body - testing his mobility and injuries the way his mother taught him all those years before.

He's _fine_ , really. Other than the black eye, the minor concussion, the sore ribs and ties cutting off circulation in his wrists, he's not in bad shape.

He remembers being struck across the face. He remembers going down. Must have hit his head on the counter, nothing else explains why he didn't fight back. There's a scuffle above him. His captors are going through his house, none-to-gently if the banging is anything to go by.

Neil sighs.

Waits.

He thinks of Andrew.

*

Or maybe the chapter didn't begin like so...

Maybe it began thus:

With something shifting between Neil and Andrew.

After that day when Andrew arrived drunk as a firefly that's just escaped a honeypot, Neil notices how at ease Andrew now is.

He hadn't even realised how on edge the man was until the alertness was gone.

Oh Andrew's still reticent. Still sealing his emotions away beneath his ribs. Still reluctant to give up his secrets to Neil in exchange for the right flowers, but he's there and shares more of himself, in small ways that feel huge in Neil's chest.

Andrew, he learns, is from the high country. His favourite flowers are the yellow gorse flowers that grow there - sharp and resilient and evergreen. Good for hiding inside.

Andrew, he learns, has been a Fox for three summers - joining with his brother and cousin after years as wanderers, making coin doing the dirty jobs no one else wanted, staying smart to stay alive. It makes Neil trust him just a little more.

Andrew, he learns, when King and Sir make their first appearance in the shop, is a cat person.

"Where did you find them?" asks Andrew.

"Someone abandoned them near the river," Neil says.

Andrew hums.

He lets the kittens climb his legs and scramble inside his jacket and play with his hair in its customary golden braid that falls to just below his shoulders.

Neil wishes he were a cat just then, then frowns because he doesn't know where that thought came from.

Still, Neil's chest feels warm when Andrew leaves, expensive gear covered in white and ginger fluff and a smile in his eyes if not his lips.

Every week, though, Andrew continues to buy flowers for Bee.

Mellow blue malva for healing.

Hoya with its's deep red and waxy petals for freshness.

Lilies of the valley for sweet thoughts.

And every week, Andrew finds one stem in all the shop and leaves it on the counter for Neil to keep -

A yellow daffodil for new beginnings.

A pink rose for admiration.

An anemone for protection and anticipation.

Neil doesn't get it. He has a shop full of flowers already.

But he plays along because there's something about Andrew Minyard. Something that makes even Dan and Matt's upcoming nuptials feel less real.

And then one day Andrew's back before the week is up and his face is tight and the alertness is back - he's worried, Neil realises, and that makes him uneasy in turn.

"What can I help with?"

"Something to say... I'll think of you." Andrew looks like every word pains him.

Neil doesn't know what's wrong but whatever it is... "Is this about the Raven Court?"

Andrew's mouth is a grim, unforgiving line on his usually blank face. His emotions are completely sealed away. Not even a trickle seeps through.

"It is," Neil realises. "Do you need me?"

"No," Andrew says.

"I said I would help."

"But I don't need your protection." Andrew waits. "Do you have something to say 'I'll think of you when I'm gone' or not?"

There's something in the gold eyes, a message, but Neil doesn't have the language to translate.

He gives Andrew a pale, lilac-tinged frost flower. It looks like a star.

"For patience, elegance," he explains. "These flowers are meant to grow where the tears of the stars have fallen to earth and bloomed."

Andrew looks at it. Looks at Neil. He's stepped close during Neil's explanation. Their body heat mixes and now too does their breath - Andrew plucks the stem from Neil fingers and their skin brushes.

Heat burns Neil's hand and he can't stop the gasp that escapes him.

And Andrew is gone in the next moment, leaving nothing but the clink of silver coins, the flash of his gold hair, and the scent of him, dark and dangerous, amid the colourful flowers of the shop.

Neil feels like he's standing in a wreckage, the frost flower is back in his hand.

*

The thing is - it could have started then - with shared secrets and messages sent in flowers.

Or it could have begun with Andrew, freshly sober, glowering at the red-headed psychic that he so viciously hates, telling him about what he found in the Abandoned City of Evermore.

It could have begun when he talked about the intel they received at the Foxhole Court.

It could have begun when he described seeing the Butcher in his place at the side of the Raven King - Kengo Moriyama, looking decidedly too warm to be dead. Neil went so pale.

It could have begun when he was telling Neil everything - about the dark magic, the dead land, the terrible cold. And even as Andrew was talking to him, he was thinking about how Neil gave him a sobriety potion so that he could close down his mental walls once more.

For an empath to do that -

Turning up drunk had been like giving a thief a key to his house.

Andrew knew nobody who wouldn't have taken advantage.

Yet instead, this thief pressed the key back into his fist, pushing him away with hands raised in surrender.

It could have started then.

Or when Neil returned the favour and shared everything he knew about the Moriyamas, the Butcher, their first deaths.

*

It could have started then.

Andrew knew better.

Andrew knew everything started the very first week Neil Josten turned up in Palmetto.

Scarecrow thin, twitchy as a rabbit, wisteria wild hair (still unchanged).

Unmissable.

Andrew noticed him across the square - flowers in a cart behind him and absolutely no future ahead of him, until he decided to stay.

At the time, Andrew was furious at Wymack for letting in another stranger to the community. Especially one so clearly marked by necromancy. And so he'd started to buy flowers on the pretence that they were for Bee.

Bloom and Wither became his most frequented shop. He couldn't stop himself from coming back.

*

Of course, the exact beginning of how exactly Neil came to be trussed up in his own shop, isn't really the problem.

That came when Neil opens his eyes and finds himself face to face with a man, who he'd later discover to be Drake Spear.

"Hello pet," drawled the man. "Care to tell me where my boy is?"

Drakes teeth are rust-red and his breath is rotten. His nails are overgrown and black and split. Neil can taste the necromancy on him. His magic sings at the proximity. It sounds like bells.

He reaches towards Drake with his magic - a tricky thing given how little he uses the skill and his hands still bound.

The tether between body and soul is impossibly strong. He flinches back when Drake grins.

"See how powerful we are little witch? Tell me where my boy is."

Neil shakes his head.

If Drake will loom closer, he can make a move.

If. If. If.

Like all villains, Drake is predictable and he steps right into range of Neil's legs.

He kicks up into Drake's groin and shoves himself backwards, avoiding being grabbed. Using the chair, he throws himself into the second captor, winding him.

The seat breaks part under pressure (it never was very sturdy) and Neil's hands find a cutting knife to slice through his restraints.

It's an awkward angle, time isn't on his side. He's loosened just enough but... Drake.

Drake is faster.

He grabs Neil and throws him, he lands among the peonies. Slathering and snarling, Drake launches himself on top of Neil.

"Skinny thing aren't you. Very pretty. I can see why AJ would like you. Shall we see what you've got, hm?"

Neil rolls his eyes, this bitch has nothing on Lola. He's crude, using size and weight to keep control of his victims. Neil is no longer a victim. With a wriggle, Neil creates enough space to slice his ropes and okay he nicks his own skin too but he'll survive. Drake won't.

Jabbing upwards with the freed blade, Neil slashes the knife straight across Drake's eye.

_Once._

_Twice._

_Rams it home._

The tip breaks off inside Drake's skull.

He presses his hands against Drake's chest, using all his magic to try and snap the life tether. It won't break.

There are broken pots and flowers everywhere, pink water and pink petals and pink film in his eyes.

And Neil stares at Drake, who is still grinning with a knife straight through his brain and whatever magic this is, it's not natural.

Neil needs his bells.

The bells he stole from his mother.

The bells he swore to never use again after destroying the Moriyamas once already.

The bells that are hidden amongst the plants but he'll never reach before he's killed.

Neil had almost forgotten the other attacker until he hears them cry out at something he can't see over Drake's shoulder.

But there's the tell-tale jingle of the door. And a scent that's dark and dangerous, furious.

 _Andrew_.

Andrew is a hurricane in black - a whirling dervish of impossible speeds, taking out the first captor with ease. Neil blinks, for a moment he was sure Andrew had wings, was flying. Then he's turning, eyes the gold of forest fires, and he sees Drake.

Andrew reaches for Drake the same time Drake reaches for Andrew.

Screaming at Andrew, Neil uses the distraction to yank on the blade in Drake's eye socket, to throw him off balance.

"Hold him!" Neil rolls away from Drake as Andrew seizes the dead-not-dead monster.

He runs for the calla lillies. He pushes them aside. He bashes his hands through the wall behind them.

A scream curls inside him as his hand finds a bell and his magic explodes. Death magic sings through him, unspools around him as every bloom in the store withers to black.

Neil's skin glows, pale scars over his nose and cheeks burning white as he lifts the bell.

And rings it.

In Andrew's arms, Drake drops like a puppet, every string to life severed. The bell keeps ringing, a low tone, deep as the earth. It vibrates through his bones. He can feel death calling him down, hear the voices of the dead, feel the fears and hopes of a million ghosts.

Andrew kicks at Drake's body. Checking he's dead.

Then he lifts his hand and fire pools there like a liquid, he tips his palm and it falls, three small starlike drops onto the corpse. It's engulfed in an instant. Gone, but for the scorched wooden floors.

Blinking, Neil finds himself being assessed by Andrew's gold stare.

"Psychic," Andrew says.

"Empath," Neil replies automatically, as if the bell in his hand didn't say he was so much more than that.

He can't take his eyes from where Drake's body used to be.

"You're an angel?" Neil says.

"Close, but not quite, flower boy," Andrew says. "We'll sort out your face and then let's the two of us have a little chat. I've been out in Evermore. Looks like we might need your... skills... after all."

Neil knows he's thinking of the bells.

Speaking of which.

He holds up on finger and goes to where the ivy wall used to clamber. It's all dead now, stringy and sad.

There's a tiny little bell tucked behind it though and when Neil lifts it, it's warm to the touch.

He give it three firm shakes.

Even Andrew gasps.

The shop is in full bloom.

Flushing green first, leaves perk upright, stems straighten, petals turn lush and fill with colour: bright sunflowers, red and purple and pink tulips, damask roses, dog roses, sweet briers and white yorks, orange carnations and yellow dog flowers, purple lavender and silvery thyme, daisies pure and white perking up their heads, orchids in every tone and shade imaginable, blue forget-me-nots, delicate baby's breath, the peonies sway towards the bell and the lilies shy from it.

A warm, calloused hand touches Neil's.

"Enough," says Andrew.

The shop is overgrowing, fallen petals still litter the ground and the whole place feels full of a thousand smells and scents.

Neil sways on his feet, smiling at Andrew, goofy and alive, magic humming and happy.

"Stupid psychic," Andrew says.

And whenever this thing between them started, doesn't matter, because Andrew is kissing Neil - and it's not tender, it's not soft. It's wet and shameless and devastating. It feels like falling off the edge of the world.

Neil is falling. 

But that's okay. Andrew has wings.

**Part III**

Neil wakes up in his bed, an unfamiliar weight next to him.

Squinting, he recognises the long gold braid and smiles.

“Did you really kiss me into passing out?” Neil says, his voice is rough with sleep.

“Don’t blame me for your idiocy, psychic.” Andrew looks up from the book in his hands, dried petals peek out from the pages.

Neil recognises it as his flower grimoire - a collection of spells and potions he once defended with his life. Prying eyes were dangerous. The magic even more so in the wrong hands.

But Andrew already knows who he is and what he’s done. He's seen it now. And he won’t judge Neil.

Quirking an eyebrow, Neil rolls onto his back so he can wait for Andrew’s questions.

“I didn’t know necromancy could be used like this,” Andrew says.

"It was my mother’s invention..." Neil starts. Stops. Contemplates telling Andrew everything.

He chooses honesty. "She learnt to infuse her potions with the magic of the bells. From there...” Neil strokes a fingertip along the page edges. “The flowers have to like you though, to make a lot of it work. All flowers want is to live, so if you’re going to ask them to die..."

Not that his mother ever cared enough to discover more than the basics - to her everything was a tool for escape.

She taught herself all she needed to flee Evermore.

Enough to ensure she could leave, even if it meant abandoning Neil as a child of barely eight summers.

Rumour was that Mary had taken the silent vows and now communicated solely with the dead.

Myth made out like Mary was a queen of her own underworld now - having burrowed into the earth and trapping souls trying to pass on.

Truth was Mary died - having never made it out of the city. Nathan Wesninski summoned his dogs and they’d torn her limb from limb.

Neil knew the truth. Nathan had grabbed his head and forced his face into her bloodied remains, snarling our threats to his son, slamming his head into the ragged corpse. That grimoire had been all Neil had left of her.

And when he was old enough to wield the bells, but still naive enough to think she loved him, he had started to pull on the same strange magic.

Only when he found out the full story, he stopped following her footsteps – he went further instead, made the magic his own.

Andrew hums, looking over the page open on his lap and then snapping it shut.

"Tell me: what you did with Drake, can you use that on the Moriyamas?"

Neil shakes his head. "It only worked because of the flowers. They bolster the bells because they're connected to me, my magic."

"But you defeated them before."

"Yes."

"Using empathy?"

"I drove them mad," Neil says, closing his eyes.

He's not proud of it. He did what he had to do to survive.

A brush of skin on skin flutters his eyes open. Andrew is watching him, far from repulsed.

"I..." Neil finds his words. "I used the Court gardens to draw up every ghost of everyone of their victims and had them experience every death - every death. There's only so many times a man can feel like he's dying before his heart gives up."

Especially when the bell tolls.

And Neil had wielded the bells like a blade. He had judged and found them guilty. Become the executioner. He had learnt that there were worse sounds than weeping, more fearsome noises than screams - because there was silence in the aftermath. The moment breath became air.

"I was out there, before this," Andrew says. "In Evermore. Again."

Neil knows what he must have seen.

The wasteland Neil left in his wake.

Nothing survived - not the trees, not the flowers, not the grass.

Nothing would ever survive there again.

Neil destroyed it all.

Andrew watches him, studies him. His hands reaches out and tangles in Neil's hair - it's a move so smooth Neil realises he must have thought about it a hundred times before.

Neil's cheeks pink but he doesn't pull away.

"The magic that I felt around Drake is strong too," Neil says. "To do that for the whole Court? That's going to take a lot of power to overcome."

Andrew's mouth twitches, like he finds Neil's concern amusing. "We have power."

"Enough?"

Andrew shrugs. "It'll have to be."

He's right - before Evermore fell, the world was darker and harder and crueller. The Raven Court held absolute control. Going back to that - Neil shudders - it's unimaginable. He knows what would happen to him too. Bound, silenced, forced to serve and kill and…

Andrew's hand in his hair tightens. It's oddly grounding. Neil presses closer and remembers how he wished he were a cat, and wonders if this is what his subconscious was ticking over all this time.

*

The next few days are a blur, the flower shop is suddenly a place where dozens of people seem to flood in and out - Renee and Seth and Allison and Dan and Matt - and Neil becomes all too aware that they're all Foxes. They're all part of the sanctuary. And he isn't.

They seek ideas and counsel - insights only Neil can give as a one time member of the Court.

Neil tries his best, tells them all he can.

And Andrew watches - he's always watching. He sees the strain in Neil's posture, how he shrinks, wears fewer flowers in his hair.

One day Andrew comes to Bloom and Wither, to find Neil playing with a daisy - it's purest white, sweet as summer. They mean innocence, purity, Neil once told him. But they're also a symbol of new beginnings and transformation.

Andrew knows they're Neil's favourite flower, he wears them in his hair almost always.

Andrew also knows their deeper meaning.

That daisies are composite flowers - a ray floret and a disc floret so perfectly blended to look like one flower when really they're two.

They represent true love. And Andrew wonders if Neil knows what he's yearning after - or if he's as clueless in this as everything else.

After all, the fool still didn't realise Andrew had been courting him for months.

 _For the love of magic_ , Neil had thought Andrew was dating _Bee_ , which had almost made Andrew choke.

So no, Neil was still oblivious. Delightfully so - and Andrew wasn't going to enlighten him.

 _It's safer this way_ , Andrew tells himself, _safer not to let Neil too close_.

But when they're together, Andrew knows nothing can possibly be safe again.

When they kiss, he can taste death on Neil's tongue.

When they touch, he can feel power thrumming in Neil's blood.

And yet he ignores it - all the warning signs, all the danger.

Because Neil listens when Andrew says no. Because Neil hasn't pushed to see Andrew's wings even though he's curious. Because Neil, in all his idiocy, trusts Andrew and doesn't demand truths, only offers them.

Andrew plots and plans by day, he stalks and stealths and goes on mission.

He comes back and wraps himself up in Neil.

Sometimes he helps with the flowers as Neil creates amulets and charms, harvests herbs and takes cuttings.

Other times he sits and plays with the cats.

He likes watching Neil work - the way his brow furrows and talks to the plants like they're listening. He likes how Neil absently picks a flower and slides it behind his ear or into his curls. Barely conscious of the action.

Andrew likes it even more when Neil deliberately tucks a sprig of heather into his own blond braid and grins, wide and wild.

"There, you're pretty now."

Andrew scowls. But he doesn't take out the flower. Not even when Nicky teases him.

The thing is - though he’s okay with everyone asking Neil questions - he doesn’t want Neil too involved.

Drake already tracked him down and he knows from what Neil’s said that he’ll be a target for the Butcher and the Court. He’s surprised that they haven’t turned up already but since they haven’t, he doesn’t want to put Neil any closer to the mystery than he needs to be. He’s a weapon in the right hands.

“Pfft,” Aaron huffs as they spar. “You’re lying to him and yourself, brother. You haven’t even told him about what you are or what he is to you yet.”

“Because you’ve always been so honest with Katelyn.”

“She _always_ knew what we are. Your flower boy knows nothing.”

*

Aaron’s right of course.

Andrew should have told Neil the whole truth.

Because on a moonless night, as Neil goes to lock up Bloom and Wither, he sees a winged man in the sky and smiles.

From a distance, in the dark, he thinks it’s Andrew.

From a distance, in the dark, he doesn’t see that the body is too long, the face shattered, the wings made of night instead of stars.

He doesn’t recognise Riko Moriyama until it’s too late.

He doesn’t realise what the Banished Son has done until he’s screaming.

Purple flames rain down, Neil is thrown to the ground, the store shrieks as protection charms break and shatter.

Neil throws up his hands, magic seeking bone and ash and spirit.

Riko laughs and laughs. His eyes are made of the same infernal fire.

“Oh Nathaniel, my favourite monster. Have you been enjoying your time out here with your flowers and your little vermin friends?”

Neil stares in horror as Bloom and Wither catches light - the roof beginning to burn.

He pulls on the dead and the night becomes freezing but the fire keeps burning and the shop keeps screaming and he knows that all this has been Riko.

Drake. The Butcher. Evermore.

Riko did always want to be king.

It doesn’t take long for the fire to spread. There’s nothing Neil can do against this kind of blaze. Riko folds his wings behind him and stands at Neil’s side. He reeks of hatred and pride and sick delight. Neil feels like he’s drowning in Riko’s pain.

“Remember when we used to light fires and tell stories about what we saw in the flames?” Riko muses. “Your stories were always so good. Dreams of gardens and pretty charms, small magic to make fairy lights.”

He waves a hand, sparks shoot off like sparklers.

For a second Neil does remember.

He recalls a small boy with a cheeky smile and hates hates hates what was done to Riko. What he went through to make him so cruel, so broken.

But then the roof of Bloom and Wither caves in, Neil’s heart quakes and cracks. _What was done to Riko was monstrous and it created a monster - is there any surprise in that?_

The shop burns.

The fire continues to roar.

When morning arrives, pale and grey, Andrew finds Neil in the ashes, his hands and feet burnt by shards of hot stone and glass. Flowers wilted in his hair and no where else to be seen.

His face is awful blank.

“It’s Riko,” is the only thing Neil says before he pulls a grey daisy from his hair and drops it to the ground.

**Part IV**

We find ourselves in the Foxhole - the sanctuary protecting Palmetto. Andrew guides Neil inside, gentling him by the elbow.

His flower boy is in shock.

The new magic entering the sanctuary causes a ripple through the wards and one by one the Foxes emerge, blearily noticing first Andrew then the dusty, wan figure beside him.

“Hey is that Neil?” Matt is the first to react, stumbling forward.

Neil lifts his pale eyes - he’s reacting to the noise but nothing else.

Andrew draws Neil closer, fighting the urge to snarl and snap at Matt, to protect what’s his.

Matt isn’t a threat, says the tiny reasonable part of his brain.

Andrew doesn’t listen, can’t listen. Not with Neil blind with grief.

The morning passes - Andrew washes Neil off in the shower, keeping his touch clinical and firm as Neil stands there, silent. He tucks Neil into his bed and rests his hand on Neil’s neck until his breathing evens into sleep.

Only then does he go to speak to the Foxes - explaining to them about Riko’s visit.

“I thought he was dead.”

“It can’t be him.”

“You’re kidding right? This is a thrice damned joke?”

“I’m too young to die oh my god oh my god Erik—”

“Shut. The fuck. Up.”

Silence descends, sudden as a summer storm.

Seven pairs of eyes turn to him.

Aaron’s brow twitches. “You’re glowing, brother.”

He fucking is as well - being angry only makes the light swell and simmer below his skin. He bares his teeth in a grin that makes them all cringe.

Who knew how Tilda - plain, mean, boring Tilda - bedded a Seraph? It remained a mystery, except nine months later had twins, one clearly blessed and the other - well something must have gone wrong because Andrew came out with six wings, black as the nightsky, and fae-sharp teeth.

So Tilda did what good god-fearing mothers should do and dumped her demonic son in a well to drown. No matter the lore that said seraphs were the same as Akyəst - the serpents that flew with phoenixes and chalkydri, singing the end of times. No matter that he was a baby. She cast him down.

And down, down, down he went.

Into the hands of people who would do anything for a taste of heaven’s power, albeit diluted with Andrew’s human blood.

For a moment with the Foxes, he is there again, staring into the faces of those who would control and abuse him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a fluffy headed flash of orange and cream - a bouquet of honeysuckle.

Pushing through Renee and Dan, he touches a hand to the flowers - they’re heavy with Neil’s magic, threads of necromancy feeding them a little extra life.

“Who else has flowers?” Andrew asks. “Who else has anything from Bloom and Wither?”

Every single Fox raises their hand.

*

When Neil wakes up, he knows it's late. The lights are dimmed, deep shadows on the ceiling. He rolls onto his front, feels oddly content, despite the fact that he's just seen his life literally turn to dust. He recognises the scent of Andrew on the pillows, breathes it in.

Then his nose catches another smell. Sweet and happy, earthy and cool.

He sits up. Stares. The floor is a sea of flowers - wild and cultivated, every shade and every hue, spiky and soft and leaning towards him as if to say "hello again, we missed you.

Neil breaths, in-out-in-out, too shallow to reach his lungs, too fast to do him any good.

Confusion and relief eddy through him.

He searches the shadows for Andrew because this has to have been him - every flower he ever bought is here and a fair few others too.

Andrew isn't there, he isn't lurking in a corner like a stalker in a problematically romantic novel. So Neil reaches out to the flowers, strokes their petals and feels the warmth of their green magic.

The flowers are happy. _So very happy._ His empathy feels their pleasure at being reunited - with him and each other.

There's a knock at the door, and finally Andrew's there. Gold eyes searching his face, jaw ticking with what Neil knows to be concern.

"Thank you for this," Neil says. "You're amazing, you know that."

There's a sound - like a star falling - and suddently Andrew is by the bed, crowding Neil down upon it. Their brows touch as Andrew's hands drop either side of Neil's shoulders.

"You're an idiot," Andrew says. But his wings close over them, a cocoon made of midnight and stars.

"Yes?" Neil says, looking up at him. "Or no?"

Andrew has to admit Neil is always a sight - sprawled out beneath him, all supple muscles and freckled skin. His bottom lip is red and wet and an aching _want_ arrows through Andrew.

"Yes," he says.

Lifting his head from the pillows, Neil kisses him.

Andrew's wings flutter - and for the first time, he lets them brush Neil - his arms, his face, his chest, the weft and warp of Neil's scars stretching over lean muscles.

Neil shivers and sighs, he doesn't pull away.

"You can touch them," Andrew says.

"But do you want me to?"

Andrew pauses. "Yes."

The only people who have ever touched Andrew's wings have done so to hurt him. But Neil's touch is gentle. His fingers thread through the darkness of them, finding the feather-like ridges and the delicate grace behind them. His hands soothe, instead of grip and pull. He treats Andrew's wings with the same tenderness he shows his flowers, filling his touches with awe and thanks and love. It is the softness that undoes Andrew - and it is his own desperation that wrecks Neil.

They disappear into each other.

They don't emerge until morning.

*

The plan to destroy Evermore is not a simple one. They know that Riko is the puppet master but how can they get to him when the Raven Court stands between them? Wymack plots and plans. Andrew picks the plots and plans apart. Aaron works with Neil.

Like all seraphire, Andrew and Aaron were a matched pair, born together as two sides of the same coin.

Poor, stupid, drunken Tilda didn't see it but there was nothing to differentiate her sons other than their purpose.

Where Andrew was night, Aaron was day - his wings were the colour of dawn light, full of glints of the sun and the sky, almost invisible. He was the praise, rather than the prayer. A healer, rather than a destroyer.

It meant that Aaron was able to recover Neil's bells from the rubble of Bloom and Whither - and though not even Matt's skills could make them ring as perfectly as before - Aaron was sure that they could sooth the cracks in Neil's magic to make them work again.

He and Neil have an uneasy alliance - Aaron knows what was done to his brother and he knows what Neil means to Andrew.

That doesn't mean he trusts the empath yet (although he's fairly certain they could be friends, one day, perhaps, if the world doesn't end with Evermore).

Aaron oversees as Neil practices on a bouquet of lilies, his most ardent of floral volunteers.

When Neil rings the deepest bell and the lilies wilt, Aaron watches and sees how their souls tremble but don't slip away.

He suggests a new movement to help.

They try again.

And again and again.

It is getting better.

But is it working fast enough?

"Pack up your lilies tomorrow, we're going to the river," Aaron says.

Neil gives him that frustratingly guileless look.

"Be ready," Aaron adds. "And bring Andrew."

Sitting on the bank, cross-legged at sunrise, they clasp hands and sink into the sound.

Aaron searches for the thread of Neil's magic.

Neil lets him - even though it means skirting the edges of his soul.

Andrew acts as a guard - his shadow long and dark, shielding them.

When Aaron pulls them back up, there's a new warmth around Neil that makes it hard not to look at him. Andrew meets Aaron's gaze and for once their grins match - fae-teeth glinting in the sun.

*

Between Kevin and Neil, the Court is laid out in fine details.

They pull in reinforcements, other survivors - Thea Muldani, a weather witch. Jean Moreau, whose necromantic power rivals Neil's own. None of them want Evermore to recover. They'd all die before going back.

The Foxes send out other messages to other sanctuaries as well.

They ask the sanctuary at Troy to join arms.

They ask the shape-shifter community to stand with them.

They spread the message to as many covens and sanctuaries and districts as possible - because they need help.

They won't survive alone.

No one will.

Already, Evermore's reach is spreading once more, this time leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake.

There's no illusion of a kingdom.

It's a wasteland. That's all.

The day they move in on Evermore, Andrew carries Neil for the first time.

Airborne, Neil's arms loop around Andrew's shoulders, and he doesn't seem remotely scared that Andrew might drop him.

But as they fly, they pass over the scarred earth where Bloom and Wither once stood.

They soar onwards, towards the wasteland where Riko presides over the undead.

As the ruins become little more than a speck, Neil stirs.

"Flowers grow back," Neil says. "We'll rebuild."

It's a promise.

Andrew wants to help him keep it.

**Part V**

Andrew sets himself and Neil down on the wasteland around the old city.

It was beautiful once - Neil remembers when he first arrived in Evermore and all he’d felt was awe. Ink black buildings spiralled heavenward, marble and onyx, rising up to spear the sky. Roads lined with violets and blood red poppies, meaty carnations and peonies that dripped out of window boxes like charms to ward off evil.

Riko would stand at Ichirou’s side - chin jutting, pride shining in pebble-black eyes. Kevin and Jean would lurk in the background – two small and uncertain boys caught between growth spurts, carrying baby-fat in their cheeks and yet unsure of what to do with their new, lanky limbs.

They were all children.

Nathaniel thought they were all going to be friends.

The dreaming didn’t last long.

Bloom and Wither’s burnt out walls layer themselves over Evermore. Over the crumbling walls and empty windows, the dead land that he had created when he used his magic to destroy his father and his keepers.

Neil shudders. Anguish scouring his bones, freezing cold and all consuming. Dreams never lasted, for him. Like a mirage they dissipated when he got too close. He should have learnt by now, he should have known… Hope was a fool’s paradise.

Fingers along his neck draw Neil back to himself and to Andrew, whose gaze lances right through him.

“You’re being an idiot,” Andrew says. “You’re not feeling this way, it’s the land.”

Neil blinks because Andrew is right, his empathy is singing with second-hand despair, just beyond the brush of Andrew’s fingers. Glancing at the rest of the Foxes, he notes their expressions have twisted in pain and he reaches out with his magic, placing a barrier between them and Evermore and its nightmares.

The sigh is one of relief through their group, though Andrew's ire is palpable even through his mental defences.

"Don't waste your magic."

"What's the point in having an army if they're petrified into uselessness?"

"Hey!" Nicky says, "We weren't being useless."

They don't have time for arguing though.

Andrew leads them through the fallen city, and Neil does his best to keep the horror embedded into its core at bay.

Beneath his coat, his bells and flowers tremble.

At the old market square, they split up - they need to round up the Court and bring them to where Neil thinks - _hopes prays begs_ \- Riko will be hiding.

"A pansy for your thoughts," Neil says with a wry smile, pulling flowers from his pockets and dividing them amongst the Foxes.

Each purple and yellow flower winks with a little of his empathic magic, carrying his protection charms.

There's enough for one per group, it'll do.

*

This close to Riko's lair, the death magic has a taste. Ozone and sulphur, a hint of ash.

Andrew's tongue flits out against the air, knowing they're close.

Aaron is beside him, equally alert, wings arching over his head in a display of discomfort.

But they don't find Riko first. They find the Butcher.

Nathan Wesninski was an attractive man in life, but death was not kind to him. His face is grey, skin corroding, mouth a dark hole where his jaw has half crumbled away. What hair is left is greasy and lank but clumps have fallen away, revealing a bare and mottled scalp.

Andrew hears Neil's inhalation.

And his sigh.

"Not so scary as a corpse," Neil says.

Aaron looks at him askance, skeptical, but Andrew understands.

Neil's hand is around his bell, ready to ring it.

They should have known not to underestimate The Butcher.

There's a reason why Riko raised him and there's a reason he left the Butcher looking half-dead. Because in the space of a heartbeat, Nathan is twisting, bursting, metamorphosing. His corpse tethers darkness into a monster. His jaw unhinges. His teeth are wicked-sharp.

The monster screams.

Neil is thrown back.

Andrew leaps into the air.

Wings bursting outwards, he slices forward, calling upon his angelic power to infuse his blades and slash into the body of the beast.

The battle begins.

There are moments that Andrew will remember later where all he felt was pain. His wings were crushed. His body cut through by a thousand sharp teeth. His neck almost snapped. Aaron takes it all away - healing his twin almost as soon as the injuries strike.

Angel versus demon, grace versus fiendishness.

Andrew has faced monsters before - many of which wore human skins - it's refreshing to deal with one that doesn't pretend anymore.

But it's also futile.

Unless Neil can find Riko, there's no way to destroy the Butcher forever.

"Take Neil," he tells Aaron. "Take him. Find Riko."

"You'll die here."

"Do you really think so little of me?"

Aaron hesitates.

Andrew casts a knife like a spear and The Butcher screams

"I'll bring this fucktard to you. We'll make this work."

They have to make the plan work.

*

Riko is exactly where Neil thought he would be - high up in the East Tower from which his family reigned. Ichirou lounges beside him looking healthy, beautiful even. Almost like he'd never been to the underworld.

When Riko notices Neil and Aaron - he's happy, excited.

"You came," Riko's voice is thrilled. "And you brought friends, how lovely for me. Having guests is such a delight, isn't it brother?"

Ichirou looks at Neil and Aaron, who hover in the doorway. "Having guests is a delight," he repeats. "Look how good I've got at controlling them." Riko leans over to Ichirou, runs a hand through his hair like you might a good pet. "I've learnt so much since that mishap with Drake."

Aaron hisses at that - seraph blood singing to the surface and bathing the room in dawn-light. Neil steps forward. He has his bells. He has his pockets full of flowers.

Riko looks at him, frowns. "Aren't you here to join me, Nathaniel? Do you really want to fight?"

"No," Neil admits. "I don't want to fight but I don't see another choice if you won't let Evermore go."

"This is home, Nathaniel." Riko sweeps a hand around the tower. "This is who we were meant to be."

"We were meant to be puppets for our masters. We were bred to obey."

Riko's mouth twists. "I'm a Moriyama. I was born to rule."

A wave of pity hits Neil. The name was all Riko ever had to hold onto - after he was cast aside, sent to his uncle to be 'repurposed' when his magic wasn't strong enough.

"And you were born to serve me."

Neil shakes his head, no.

Riko looks at him with disdain, then at his brother.

"Kill them, Ichirou."

What comes next is a blur.

It's knives and magic.

It's the toll of Neil's bells striking against the strings binding Ichirou to life when he should be dead.

It's Riko joining the fray, his magic thrown behind Ichirou, making him fast - inhumanly so.

It's Neil reaching into his core and wrenching magic from within himself that he never knew existed until Aaron.

It's Aaron at his back, murmuring praise and inspiration, looking angellic and unreal as his power is gifted to Neil.

It's Neil reaching into his pockets—

"Are they in place?" Neil needs to know because he can't keep this up much longer.

Aaron closes his eyes and comes back with a negative.

"They're close."

So it's time for a defensive.

Neil throws sage and rings the bell - the sound is deep and thunderous and as the sage withers, its protection wraps around Neil and Aaron.

He casts a sprig of pink honeysuckle and rings the bell - the sound is sweeter, sharper, and Riko recoils as if burnt.

"What are you doing!?" Ichirou's hands are burning, skin bubbling and smarting.

Riko is full of rage and his next attacks cut and slice and scream and claw at Neil's magic. The sound of the bells keeps reverberating as the honeysuckle begins to darken and dry and wither, taking the damage that would have struck Neil.

"Now, Neil!"

Aaron's voice is doubled. His eyes glowing ethereal bright. He is Andrew and Andrew is him, twelve wings made of light and shadow as they overlap and behind them he can see the way Andrew's body has wrapped around the demonic version of his father.

Neil closes his eyes.

His scars burn white and light splits his skin as his hand finds the second bell.

He pulls angelica from his coat - raises it high so the large, sparkling, starburst flowers catch on Aaron's dawnbright wings.

The bell tolls.

The flower turns to light and bursts outwards:

"To purify the land," Neil intones.

Evermore trembles.

He raises a stick of cinnamon, crushes it in his hand, throwing it forwards as the bell rings again. Louder, heavier.

"To give us power, to unite and energise us."

The cinnamon sparks gold and silver - it strikes Ichirou and he collapses, writhing to the ground.

Riko screeches but his magic is nothing as Neil is filled with the power of all those who followed him here. He can feel Kevin and Jean, Dan and Matt, Aaron and Andrew and Renee and Allison. And he knows they're feeling him too. _His necromancy. His empathy._

Finally he lifts a wreath - there is basil and laurel, marjoram and verbena, bright marigolds and yellow gorse, sweet daisies and wrapped around it, a peacelily.

"Protect us, defend us, purify us, renew us." Neil speaks and the whole world seems to speak through him.

The earth shakes.

The tower sways.

Riko's puppets fall: dead and damned.

Riko himself shrivels, ruined face crumbling. He collapses and Neil knows that he's not dead but he won't ever again wake up.

Riko's magic is gone. His soul lost to whatever power he sold it to.

And with that last thought, Neil feels the world tilt and fade at the edges.

He feels Aaron’s arms catch and deliver him to Andrew.

He feels the blank calm of Andrew’s mind, smells the danger and camphor of his skin.

He feels safe.

So he passes out - finally, truly, free

**VI**

**Something like an epilogue**

In the bend of a river, close to the now Foxhole Court, is a small cottage with a thatched roof and a garden full of flowers.

Well. A garden and every window and the full shop that takes up the ground floor.

They are happy flowers, yellow and pink and blue and white.

All Neil wanted was a little beauty everyday - flowers that he could encourage and nurture and love and finally pass along to someone who needed them.

He has that now and more.

From the window he watches as a shape, born on black wings full of stars, swoops low.

He smiles. Andrew has found some frost flowers and carries them in his arms, bundles of them in his arms.

His six wings don't shimmer away. They're on flagrant display as they ruffle in the sun.

He's enjoyed himself.

He's happy to be home.

Neil can't read Andrew's emotions but he doesn't have to because his wings tell him everything.

Dan and Matt share a knowing glance when they see Neil's distraction.

"We'll see you tomorrow," they say as goodbye.

Their wedding is tomorrow and Neil has everything ready.

Because, whilst sometimes people still come looking for Guilt Flowers, Bloom and Wither's speciality is charms.

Protection, love, loyalty, healing, wisdom, joy.

It's everything Neil thought was a pipedream.

But as his friends leave and Andrew steps inside, he knows all of this is real.

His breath hitches and he steps into Andrew's arms as soon as they open for him.

Andrew is so real.

It's not a hallucination.

Surrounded by flowers, Neil leans in with a question that's answered with a 'yes'.

Petals stir and two cats blink lazily at the sight. The sun catches in Neil's hair like Andrew's hands which tangle in the curls.

Lips part, touches are savoured.

Neil's mouth trails down Andrew's throat, making his wings shiver.

"Stupid psychic," Andrew says.

"Empath," Neil corrects.

Andrew's hands tighten in Neil's hair.

 _He loves him_ , that's what Neil hears in the way Andrew speaks and touches and holds him.

It's what he'll feel when Andrew takes him apart, when he let's Neil undo him in turn.

_He loves him so very much._

[ **-The End-** ](https://twitter.com/chryseos1/status/1197563987438841856?s=20)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the amazing Andre (AKA Chryseos1 on twitter) 
> 
> Links here: https://twitter.com/chryseos1/status/1197213088119971840?s=20
> 
> https://twitter.com/chryseos1/status/1197222988162248707?s=20
> 
> https://twitter.com/chryseos1/status/1197563987438841856?s=20


	25. Conversion Camp AU - a premise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil Josten and Andrew Minyard meet pre-Palmetto, at conversion camp.
> 
> Andrew has been sent there by Tilda.
> 
> Neil is still Nathaniel and was sent by The Butcher after failing to fuck a sex worker on his 17th birthday.

Neil Josten and Andrew Minyard meet pre-Palmetto, at conversion camp.

Andrew has been sent there by Tilda.

Neil is still Nathaniel and was sent by The Butcher after failing to fuck a sex worker on his 17th birthday.

The Moriyama family own this place. The methods have been perfected by Tetsuji, who refined them using Riko as his first subject. 

(“We’ll let you out if you join this, if you prove that -”

It’s a gang-linked, grooming ground.)

It’s somewhere between hell and a cell - everything is designed to psychologically twist and undermine who they are.

Andrew, however, has no time for this shit. He knows all about masks and giving people what they want - and refusing to give it to them.

Nathaniel is jumpy and mistrustful with a too sharp tongue and a too pretty face. He’s going to get into trouble.

And oh he does.

Andrew doesn’t care at first - this kid is amusing, but he’s locked in there same as him.

Only thing is: Andrew finds out _Neil isn’t gay._ He doesn’t swing. And most of the times he’s in trouble, it’s for putting himself in the way of someone else’s problem.

Including Andrew’s.

Neil takes the blame despite his punishments often being worse than the rest – partly because he’s a mouthy little shit - but also because his father knows the Moriyamas and this is their camp. Neil is meant to belong to them, he’s meant to obey and he’s standing in the way every chance he gets.

Neil knows they can’t kill him. That’s why he does it.

Cue: Andrew making a deal with Neil.

Add: Neil learning to trust this strange, deadly boy with the bullet gold eyes.

They look out for each other. They look out for escape opportunities.

But there are still days where Neil’s eyes are blown wide, every limb twitching with aftershocks from electric therapy.

And nights where Neil comes back too sore to climb up to his bunk.

 _Poor little rabbit tried to make a nest on the floor,_ but Andrew forced him into the bottom bunk.

Then someone else in the dorm tattles that they touched, which Andrew denies.

Neil doesn’t remember it happening but he knows what’ll happen if Andrew’s thought to help him. So he lies too. 

They're punished anyway. 

*

Imagine an attempt to escape - they’ve been planning for weeks, squirrelling messages, brushing by each other to add to the plan. Those brushes becoming touches, becoming comfort.

Neil has never felt a touch like Andrew’s - demanding but not controlling, strong but not hurtful.

The first time fails.

They’re punished and it’s not pretty.

They’re separated and Andrew comes so close to doing something irrevocable.

And that’s when he hears a tap at his window. Neil is outside in the moonlight.

“Fuck plans. Let’s get out of here.”

*

And somehow, elsewhere, there’s Nicky finding out what’s happening to Andrew.

He’s there on the outside for days, sleeping in a truck. He’s searched high and low for the camp and when he found out where it was, he started rallying around to picket the area - he’s got hundreds of people now coming and going to picket this hellhole.

He's literally been living in his truck since they day he found it, as soon as he heard where Andrew was. Even after the hype dies down and something else grabs the media attention. His back is killing him and his skin is awful from all the fast food but he stays

But this is family and he’s not letting what happened to him, happen to anyone else.

Erik comes over when he can, making sure Nicky takes time to sleep in a proper bed and wash in a proper shower. When this happens, Erik stays in the truck to keep Nicky’s vigil.

Rainbow flags and LGBTQ activist groups and journalists from a half dozen news outlets. All because he shared his own story of the place and now talks about his cousin trapped in there.

Aaron is with him. Not entirely secure but learning every day.

*

When Andrew drags a limping Neil through the woods, Nicky is there.

He’s just peeled himself off the backseat after another long night. He’s too thin, too shabby and in good need of a shower.

The light is hazy, filtered through bosky shadows. And then there they are - two wretched, small boys, pale as ghosts. It can’t be Andrew, he thinks, Andrew wouldn’t be so close to someone like that.

Andrew looks at Nicky and there’s mistrust in his eyes. But there’s pain pinching the corner of Nicky's eyes, and as they grow closer, he can see the wrappers in the truck and the toothbrush in the cup holder and he knows that Nicky isn’t faking this concern, even if he’s a Hemmick.

Neil takes Andrew’s lead.

Say the word and he’ll fillet Nicky like a fish - but Andrew lets Nicky pull him into the truck, so Neil follows. They barely talk until they’re screaming down the road towards a ‘safe place’ Nicky knows.

It’s the Foxhole Hotel.

This is where Erik has been staying – but it’s further away than Nicky’s picket and so they’ve been primarily using it as a base camp.

Wymack runs the place, Abby is his partner.

Nicky slowly persuades Andrew to let her take a look at them because he _knows_ the scars he left that camp with, the punishments he took. Even if it’s just arnica they need, he wants them to have it.

Neil is the final, whispered push because he knows about scars from more than just the people at the camp and he knows they haven't been cleaned properly.

And Nicky’s looking at Neil for the first time – this wraith-like, preternaturally coloured stranger who helped his cousin to escape that hellhole – sees the giant gash in his leg, tries to persuade him to see Abby too.

Neil tries to ask for fishing twine and vodka and Nicky will not have it.

“Baby,” Nicky says. “Baby no. You need a doctor and we have one right here. See her, okay?”

Neil finally caves when Andrew fixes him with those eyes.

**-THE END-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos also goes to the pre-eminent ImperfectCourt for having the discussion with me that contributed several of the ideas about Nicky and the post-escape.


	26. Christmas Traditions AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan Wilds is determined to ensure that the Foxes have a good Christmas for once - and she does so by finding out everyone's festive traditions. A Christmas Morning AU.

Imagine that first Christmas when Andrew and Neil are both there and the original Foxes know it’s their last year all together so Dan rather unsubtly (for her) asks around about traditions.

She’s aware last year was awful for most of them but now she wants to know what traditions people have had and enjoyed.

Nicky waxes lyrical about piñatas and his mom’s coquito (“it’s so much more than just eggnog and rum”).

Aaron admits he enjoyed putting angels at the top of the tree then a layer of stars and then baubles. (Andrew snorts, “control freak”).

Matt talks about breakfast - “Dudes, the breakfast is the best bit - croissant and bacon and butter and jam and all the trimmings and mimosas.”

Allison, of course, describes presents - how her family don’t lay stockings but pillow cases embroidered with their names on, all in festive colours. “There’s nothing ever expensive - it’s all about finding gifts that matter. It’s the only time my parents weren’t materialists.”

Renee has stockings though - ones that she and Stephanie made together. There’s always a satsuma at the bottom and chocolate coins for St Nick.

“We go to the Christmas carols too,” she says. “Which raises money for the Christmas soup kitchens.”

Neil grins at her, “Those places do a great job, mom and I used to go to those a bunch around Christmas when it was too cold and too conspicuous to heat stuff up.”

Dan’s heart could break but she’s plotting, planning, hasn’t got time to feel sad right now.

And Andrew shrugs. “Cass made the best red cabbage with pomegranate. I used to help her make all the desserts too.”

Everyone is surprised at him volunteering information, especially about Cass Spear.

But Neil’s expression is fond. “You do make a great roulade.”

“Wait, you've tried his roulade? That's not what I -- I mean -- you can cook, Andrew?!” Nicky looks like his jaw could unhinge and fall off any minute.

Andrew’s face remains impassive. He shrugs.

Kevin goes last. He shuffles his hands, traces the scars there. “We read stories. It was the only time we did anything like that. But the Ma- Tetsuji didn’t start the winter practices until we were like... twelve. He’d take us to this private house. And there were books there.”

No one is surprised but there’s still something pretty sad about it. His relationship with Riko will always be complex and fraught. 

So Dan talks to Matt and Allison and Renee and they contrive a plan. The tricky bit is persuading the Monsters but Renee can do that with a little time and much cajoling. 

But they all go to the cabin - the same one they went to for spring break - only this time the upperclassmen have set up for Christmas.

There’s a tree with angels and stars and baubles for Aaron.

Star shaped piñatas and eggnog with rum (sorry it’s not quite like your moms) for Nicky.

And there’s carols for Renee and they’ll all volunteer at a soup kitchen on Christmas Eve after midnight mass.

And Matt has made breakfast.

And Kevin finds a dozen story books.

And Allison has organised both stockings AND pillow cases for everyone because gift giving is her love language and she really does love the Foxes for all their messed up, muddled up, found family infighting. 

And Andrew and Neil make roulade (Neil passes things and grins his wild, wide grin and Andrew may or may not kiss the taste of chocolate from his mouth before the end).

And Dan? Well she gets all her Foxes in one place, with her coach and Abby and Bee coming to join on Boxing Day for a huge roast ham.

Merry Christmas 


	27. The Houseboat AU - a premise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Andrew works construction on a riverside site and Neil is the stupidly attractive houseboat owner who refuses to move his boat for the work to complete.
> 
> Cue: the monsters trying to make Neil move his boat.
> 
> Add: Hijinks and many pranks
> 
> Sprinkle: fluff
> 
> Tags: Andrew Minyard finds Neil interesting in every universe, secretly he’s the architect, Neil likes boats because they let him wonder freely, he’s just being a dick because he feels like it, Andrew should have asked nicely, will Neil stay or will he go?, we all know the ending.

In which Andrew works construction on a riverside site and Neil is the stupidly attractive houseboat owner who refuses to move his boat for the work to complete.

Cue: the monsters trying to take Neil move his boat.

Add: Hijinks and many pranks

Sprinkle: fluff

Tags: Andrew Minyard finds Neil interesting in every universe, secretly he’s the architect, Neil likes boats because they let him wonder freely, he’s just being a dick because he feels like it, Andrew should have asked nicely, will Neil stay or will he go?, we all know the ending.

*

It would start with a construction site, and Andrew climbing scaffolding like a pirate up rigging - on hot days, he sheds his shirt and clambers upwards, arms strong and sure.

And Neil will be there on his little boat, watering his rooftop garden, or sitting and reading in a deck chair.

They’re both watching each other -

Andrew trying to understand this nomad who refuses to be nomadic.

Neil enjoying the snark and fight he finds in Andrew, but not sure why he doesn’t want to up anchor when that’s all he’s done for years.

The day it’s so hot that the people working with Andrew all discuss swimming in the river, only to see Neil is way ahead of them in the water and apparently attached to a line to make sure the current can’t drag him away too far. Neil offers them ropes so they can dip too, Andrew reluctantly says yes but doesn’t go in himself.

He sits with Neil on the pier, smokes.

Neil is dripping still, wearing a loose shirt that Andrew is sure he can see scars through.

But he’s more distracted by the water beading between the freckles of Neil’s throat.

*

Just imagining how it all goes wrong, because the peace between them can’t last.

The Moriyamas don't want the development to go ahead, they want the land for themselves - but Wymack's "Foxhole Architects" got the contract.

When the Moriyamas realise Neil is there on his boat, they see an opportunity.

Neil is loosely connected to them -

Perhaps he went to school with Riko,

Perhaps his father worked for them as an enforcer, ensuring they always got the land they wanted

Perhaps Mary exposed her husband for bribery, blackmail and fraud.

Perhaps Mary was killed in the aftermath of the courts - but Neil was unable to prove it was murder.

Perhaps the Hatfords tried to pull Neil back into the fold and he refused to go, choosing to buy his boat and travel the rivers and canals of Britain for years.

Perhaps all of the above.

But revenge is best served slowly and throughout those years the Moriyamas have kept an eye on the son of their former enforcer, Mary's boy.

When they realise Andrew's site and Neil's mooring are connected, ah, _what an opportunity._

It looks like a tragic accident, like poor safety measures were taken and that's how the scaffolding came down one rainy afternoon, smashing through the bows of Neil's boat.

Neil escapes - just - because Andrew is able to pull him to safety.

But his boat, his home, is consumed by the river.

And Neil thinks it's because of Andrew's lot.

He's watching his life wash down stream, everything he owns, his flowers, his deckchair - all vanishing underwater.

He sees his own homelessness and sinks to his knees.

Andrew offers to put him up but Neil can't even look at him yet.

He doesn't believe it would be deliberate but every nerve is raw with grief for the small life he's lost.

He goes to a hotel.

He doesn't sleep.

He gets a text.

Someone wants him to think that Andrew - or one of the Foxhole contractors - did this out of spite. To make him move.

Even in his desolation, Neil knows that can't be true.

So why would someone - an unknown number - try to tell him this?

He takes a day before going to Andrew with the message.

Andrew has a suspicion.

Neil's blood turns cold as the river at the name Moriyama.

Neil tells his story. Andrew shares his too.

There's a new part to this relationship now - something tentative, precious, protective.

*

The two of them working together to prove the Moriyama's involvement in the accident.

Andrew quietly adding new designs to the riverside site - a place to dock a handful of houseboats.

Neil looking at new boats, wondering if maybe he should get one that's big enough for two.


	28. The Turbulence AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And yes, this is an AU where Neil spills all his secrets to an apparent stranger during mid-flight turbulence only to discover his uncle has hired the stranger as his new bodyguard - but is actually Andrew Minyard, undercover.

Special agent Minyard is sitting next to Nathaniel Wesninski in business class, Flight AA1572 Boston to London.

They’re about an hour into the flight. Nathaniel has been nothing but pleasant to everyone – check-in, air hostess, even the screaming 5 year old two rows behind.

Andrew is beginning to think they might have the wrong person - this man is more bumbling than Butcher - when it happens.

The plane starts to bump.

And then drop.

Everything seems to fragment.

There’s screams like a wave.

There’s a man zooming out of his seat as gravity attempts to fling them all out of their seats.

Andrew sees the man’s head crack against the ceiling.

He’s bleeding.

Like the drinks, the blood is falling upwards.

Perhaps it’s all those years of being terrified of falling, but Andrew feels like the world has slowed down and everything is in high definition.

He glances at Nathaniel and sees his face is pale, his mouth forming words - not in English - over and over in some kind of prayer.

And then Nathaniel is looking back at him - bright blue eyes burning with the desire to live rather than the fear to die.

This could be the last person Andrew ever sees alive - he takes in the lines of his jaw, the brush of stubble.

“We’re going to die.” Nathaniel doesn’t seem to realise he’s said the words. He’s smiling, a crooked and wretched thing.

“I doubt it,” Andrew says. “Turbulence.”

Nathaniel’s eyes focus. “What?”

Andrew doesn’t repeat himself because the plane, which was levelling out, drops—

— and Nathaniel’s knuckles are white on the seat and his eyes are blue as the sky outside and his breathing is erratic and —

Nathaniel has secrets.

Of course he does, his family is made of them. He was born as one. He lived as one. He didn’t want to die as one.

“It’s not just turbulence,” he thinks, or maybe he said it out loud because the blond man beside him is watching. “It’s not just turbulence and we’re not going to make it and I don’t want to die a secret. I dont want this, I never wanted this. God, my life, it’s a complete joke. It’s the stuff terrible novels are made of - and you know what, I get it. I get it. I get it but I still don’t...”

He knows he’s panicking and he knows he’s going to lose it. They’re still jerking in the sky - the strange man with his fathomless gold eyes listening like a priest at confession.

“But I haven’t achieved anything yet. I haven’t had a proper job. I’ve never been to an exy game. I never got a tattoo and I never had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

Nathaniel barely hears him. “My life is a joke,” he says again. “I’m finally free and now I’m going to die on a plane.”

With every bump and jolt of the plane a new torrent of secrets spills from Nathaniel’s mouth.

> “My mum hated me in the end. I let her down and he caught us and she was buried in a backpack beneath black sand and—“
> 
> “I never went on dates. My uncle keeps setting me up on them but I keep sneaking away—”
> 
> “I told my cousin their jumper shrunk but really I got blood on it.”
> 
> “I don’t think I understand sexual attraction. I mean you’re objectively good looking I guess but why does it even matter—“
> 
> “I only hate one person and my entire reason for being alive is to destroy them. I think that makes me a bad person but the world will be better without him—“
> 
> “I failed three college courses before maths —“
> 
> “I know more languages than my cousin but pretend I don’t—“

One by one every little secret tumbles from Nathaniel’s mouth to Andrew’s brain.

He’s stunned.

Who knew a little shake on the plane would loosen everything about this supposedly notorious criminal’s tongue.

What frustrates him is that Nathaniel doesn’t seem to care.

Any why should he? Other than tidbits about his mother (deceased) and possible revenge motives, nothing here is useful.

It’s all perfectly regular.

In no time at all the plane is touching down and a hostess is telling Nathaniel to stop talking and those stupidly blue eyes turn puzzled.

“We landed?”

“We landed.”

“We stopped bumping.”

“Some time ago, yes.”

“We’re not going to die.”

“We are, but not today.”

Andrew watches Nathaniel go - almost being led off the plane and collected by a worried man, so grey and thin it can only be Stuart Hatford.

He files the information away.

Mulls over it.

Needs to report in - but what can he say?

That he knows Wesninski Jnr is a too pretty virgin who’s probably on the asexual spectrum?

He decides to hold onto the information, commit it to memory.

He picks up his bag, follows the sign with his name on, and meets the car outside.

As he slides into the back, Nathaniel does very pale.

“Hello again?”

Stuart eyes them from his place in front, “Met before?”

**-THE END-**


	29. The Taylor Swift One Shots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of one shots based off Taylor Swift songs.

**Begin Again** : the moment Andrew realises he actually... likes waking up in the morning now. He’s sitting opposite Neil, not really listening but just watching as his junkie throws back his head in laughter at some stupid text on the foxes group chat.

*

**End Game :** Neil mid career, thinking about Andrew being on the same team in mere months. And he’s like ‘can we keep pretending we’re rivals? I don’t want to pretend to hate you.’ And Andrew leads back to their bed because they’re end game and that’s what they’ll show the world.

*

**Welcome to New York** : first year after they’ve both graduated and the foxes meet in NYC for New Years. Andrew finds a very very naughty present for Neil (who is being wholesome and dumb as shit staring at the lights).

*

**Out of the Woods** : after a bad day, Andrew drives Neil out of Palmetto. Just driving and driving and driving. As they go, Neil starts to realise how well Andrew knows him, how loud his actions talk. They end up at the house in Columbia and fall back together.

*

**Style** : Andrew seriously enjoys sneaking over to Neil’s when their teams play in the same states. Some serious orgasm denial for poor touch-starved Neil.

*

**We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together** : after a relationship-ending fight with Thea, Kevin imagines what he’d say to Riko if he was still alive. Later, he goes to find Aaron and realises that he has a lot of what he needs right there with the Monsters.

*

**Bad Bloo** d : a 5 times short.

  1. Kevin leaving Riko
  2. Neil saying goodbye to his mom properly
  3. Andrew seeing Cass at Aaron’s trial
  4. Matt confronting his dad about ‘those’ parties
  5. Jean and Kevin finally talking it out post-match
  6. Bonus: squad reunion led by Renee



*

**All you had to do was stay** : Andrew and Aaron in therapy with Bee. Andrew’s POV. He considers the relationship they could have had vs the one Aaron now seems to want (ie. not one) A story of miscommunication and meddling boyfriends.

*

**Enchanted** : Andrew and Neil are soulmates in every lifetime - this is an AU in which they meet in the 1920s, in Morocco. Think Casablanca with a happy ending and some nsfw smut thrown in.

*

**Look What You Made Me Do** : Nathaniel comes out to play after Jack makes a seriously shitty comment to Andrew. Andrew finds its sexy as hell.

*

**I knew you were trouble** : Roland watching Andrew and Neil from behind the bar - his feelings for Andrew went a little deeper than either of them realised and now it’s too late.

*

**Mine** : soft boys, so soft, so possessive and pretty.

*

**I know places** : Andrew wants Neil to take him on a roadtrip to all the places he'd been before Millport. It's not exactly a fun trip - Neil's haunted by all memories of those places where he and his mother hid. So Andrew takes it upon himself to give Neil better memories.


	30. 10 more premises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more of the very short prompts / premises

**ONE**

A Climate Strike AU

Neil and Andrew go to the climate marches - Neil is wearing a flower crown. Andrew isn’t expecting a sudden surge in people to seperate them - or to trigger a flashback to the riot in which Neil disappeared.

_Soft hurt/comfort._

*****

**TWO**

In which instead of court prescribed drugs, Andrew is placed under a curse that forces him to feel joy.

To get some respite, he seeks out potions and charms that try to push quieter emotions - loneliness, worry, longing.

He can barely taste them.

Then Neil Josten turns up and something about him is wrong, wrong, dangerous, wrong.

And Andrew finds he can *feel* towards Neil, unlike anyone else.

He can feel doubt and irritation and hate. It’s intoxicating. He lets the horrible emotions swell inside him, treasures them.

Funny thing is, the more he learns about the problematic runaway with the connections to Kevin, it’s not just negative emotions he’s able to feel.

Curiosity, intrigue, desire, impressed, thrilled.

Neil inspires him to play in a way duty and promises never could.

Basically a magic AU where Andrew keeps Neil around because he can somehow feel around him, breaking through his Curse of Joy.

The curse finally snaps when Baltimore happens and Andrew’s true emotions are finally bigger than anything the curse can make him experience.

*****

**THREE**

A Suckerpunch  AU

In which Neil and Andrew meet in a mental facility in the 1940s, where both of them are being considered for the most extreme treatments: the lobotomy.

*****

**FOUR**

Death Note AU

Neil is a bored Shinigami. 

Andrew is a bored genius who just found a Death Note. 

Mayhem ensues.

** * **

** FIVE **

A oneshot about the first time Neil has a proper hangover (not counting that one time at Eden's) because he went a bit harder than usual after a loss, and now Andrew looks after him and feeds him soup and grouches about how Neil isn't allowed to turn into Kevin.

Would be much soft and much snark and Neil falls asleep with his head in Andrew's lap, Andrew carding his fingers through his hair. And if Andrew shares a fond smile with King and Sir, no one has to know. 

*****

**SIX**

An Anastasia AU - where Neil thinks he wants to find his father and Andrew makes a deal to help (with the Monsters in tow, including Kevin).

But Neil’s father is actually Rasputin and the Moriyamas are those little green demons trying to drag them to hell.

The Problem: Neil’s memory is lost like Anastasia, so all he knows is the public story - the one the Butcher told after he destroyed his family about wanting his son back and searching for him out of love.

Cue: the moment when Andrew realises what he's done and that Neil is in literal mortal danger. But what chance does anyone stand against Rasputin? 

Working Title: Once Upon A December 

*****

**SEVEN**

Allison Reynolds lives next door to Neil Josten - he’s just moved in and she knows his story isn’t a happy one.

She can tell because of his truly terrible hair.

Acting for the greater good, she takes it upon herself to deliver him to her favourite salon: _Minyards_.

Andrew owns and runs a hair salon that Allison seriously rates. She takes Neil there and he’s absolutely bewildered.

Andrew just quirks an eyebrow and gets to work. There’s a lot of damage but he’s going to fix it through care, attention and shit loads of Olaplex.

Pampering ensues. Neil has never been pampered. Tbh Neil basically falls in love as soon as Andrew gets to washing his hair ( t h o s e. h a n d s)

Basically a hairdresser AU because I love this cliche and also Andrew with a gentleman’s razor / Neil finally trusting him that close with one is _perfection_.

*****

**EIGHT**

"You hate me," Neil says.

"Every inch of you," replies The Fox. He's holding a grenade in one hand, ready to throw. "Doesn't mean I want to blow you."

Neil isn't sure how he ended up alone, facing down a well-known super-villain when he's just the translator, nor does he understand why the man is giving Neil a chance to run when surely he knows he can't. Physically.

He lifts his hand, shakes his wrists - the thin chain that binds him to the Moriyamas glints in the half-light of the basement.

Something in the Fox's eyes shifts.

Basically a superhero/villain AU where Neil is an indentured slave to the Moriyamas but a so-called supervillain in the shape of Andrew Minyard, AKA The Fox, decides to save him. Oh me, oh my what will happen next?

*****

**NINE**

Neil is Spiderman and Andrew is The Torch.

Andrew with hair made of flames.

Neil not just running but slinging his way around everywhere.

Andrew drawling, "Flame on."

Neil quipping like he has a deathwish because HE DOES.

*****

**TEN**

Where Andrew meets Neil during a job interview.

He is interviewing for a role in a security team, not realising his niece has left a drawing of her hand on his cheek.

Neil doesn’t comment until the end.

Andrew, realises what’s happened. His ears go pink.

Does he get the job?

Yes.

Why?

Because even though his niece totally got him with that hand print, Andrew noticed Neil approaching well before any other candidate ever had - he’d technically passed almost before opening his mouth.

And then Neil thinks he’s amusing. So.


	31. The Shakespearean AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tawdy, rumbunctious andreil AU in which the banished heir to the Earl of Baltimore has fled into the woods and disguised himself as a humble shepherdess, Nell.

A tawdy, rumbunctious andreil AU in which the banished heir to the Earl of Baltimore has fled into the woods and disguised himself as a humble shepherdess, Nell.

After many a moon, the goodly Nell is quite a sorry sight.

But good fortune smiles one misty morn when Nell visits the nearby village and after savagely defending two Ladies from a salacious sirrah with his wit, and thus successfully befriends the kindly young Daniella and her cuz Renee.

Nell is taken in as thanks (comedy ensues as Nell knows nought of women's finery). 

Daniella and Renee talk of their suitors. Amongst them is Sir Matthew Boyd, a man of generous and noble nature that Daniella is quite infatuated with, despite being intended for another.

Renee, more pious and sweet than her infatuated cousin, is also quite the schemer. She implores Nell to distract Daniella's less desirous match so she might spend time with Sir Boyd.

Nell, believing this a simple task, agrees.

Enter, stage right, the churlish and melancholic twins - Sirs Andrew and Aaron Minyard, lately of Columbia.

They are accompanied by their Fool cousin, Nicky, and the vain and pompous Lord Day, Palmetto's eldest and heir.

Andrew, who has been summoned as the eldest of the twins, has been suggested as a match for Daniella, though he has no inclination to marry.

What fools he thinks them all to be - with all their words of love such that love so soon becomes a single sound, an echo.

Yet, now he encounters Nell, not half so rare a valentine but nonetheless a sweet-suggesting smilet.

(and quite clearly, to Andrew, *male*)

Alas! Nell maybe a peerless poplolly, but zounds! there quicks a foul tongue, a wit sharper than any pen.

Meanwhile, Fool Nicky is philosophising with a much concerned Sir Boyd.

> N: Does she love you? Or love you not?
> 
> M: Oh I believe she loves me but can we be contented?
> 
> N: Contented? PAH. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage.

And Lord Day is being an lumpish varlot, drawing the ire of the minstrals and players as he clamours on about sport in such an artless and dismal-drearing tone as to put most the listeners to sleep.

Aaron watches from downstage, poking the arms of dozing flutists.

Plotting Renee has managed to smuggle Daniella out to the gardens, where Boyd is to meet her.

(Insert: a long soliloquy about the expectations of women to marry and the task of love, that it feels such like toil instead of heaven).

On Renee's way back, she meets Allison.

Nell and Andrew begin an unconventional courtship, in which insults fly and wits are tested and months pass full of parties - each time with Andrew being ostensibly there for Daniella and spending all of his time with Nell.

Rumours fly? Is Sir Andrew to marry a lowly shepherdess?

Is Daniella to have her heart crushed?

And will Kevin ever find an audience that doesn't desire his silence?

(Nay, because Renee and Allison are a deadly pair and they have a cunning plan to ensure they are all contented).

Andrew, who has been patiently waiting for Nell to out himself in his own sweet time, however, suddenly discovers that his sky-eyed shepherdess, his shrew-tongued mistress has been stolen from her fields and is none other than the banished heir to Baltimore.

*

LET'S ALL HAVE AN EPIC FIGHT.

GORE!

COMEDY!

THE FOOL IS CHASED BY LOLA AND THEN LOLA IS CHASED BY THE FOOL!

**THWACK! BANG! SWORDS!**

RAKISH COMEBACKS!

*

By my troth, the day is saved.

Daniella marries Boyd

Renee marries Allison

Kevin ties the knot with Aaron

and

Andrew marries Neil - the new Earl of Baltimore.

And it is all presided over by Eros, god of love himself.

Nicky - naturally - gets to tell the epilogue.

**-THE END-**


	32. The Caraval AU - A Premise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Caraval - what would be a magnificent AU with much magic and mayhem and lies that could be truths as well as truths that might well be lies.

Fantastical AU in which Tilda has volunteered Andrew for the Moriyama’s army.

Andrew is willing to go along with it to protect Aaron, as it’ll allow him to take his brother away and put him in university.

Aaron is not willing to go along with it - in this world they were reunited younger and Aaron is fiercely protective of Andrew right back. He’s never been an addict and he refuses to see Andrew sell his soul to protect him from their mother.

But there is a rumour of a magical island where wishes come true - all you have to do is attend the Festival of Nights - a five day event hosted by the mysterious Butcher, a man who started as a lover and has become a villain as the years go by.

Aaron has secured them tickets. And he’s going to take Andrew there to free them both - whether they win or not, he’s going to remind Andrew how to live for himself, not just his deals.

Enter Nathaniel - the sailor who’s meant to carry them across the seas to the Island.

Begin the game - that might cost them their lives.

Rise up - the magic that will change their very understanding of reality.

In a nutshell: a loosely Caraval inspired story with magic and mayhem, truths that could be lies and lies that may be truths, a warping and wefting of time and reality and romance.

Naturally very Andreil.


	33. A Soulmate Names AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you were leaving Nathaniel behind in Baltimore.”
> 
> “I’m trying. I swear.”
> 
> “Do you knew about this? Ffs Neil.”
> 
> “Don’t. I didn’t... Don’t give up on me..”

Soulmates always have the name of their other half somewhere on their body. 

After years of confusion as Andrew’s soulmate tattoo changed over and over again, everything seemed resolved when he found out Neil was in fact once Stefan and Alex and all the other names.

But Andrew’s soul mark is curled on the inside of his bicep (when he was younger he used to lie with his face pressed against it, hoping hoping hoping). 

He can’t always see it. 

Which is probably why he doesn’t realise that it still shifts sometimes - Neil, Nathaniel, Neil.

He does notice that Neil has bad days, where his eyes are all broken glass and his smile curves cleaver-sharp and his checks during practice are borderline brutal. 

Andrew doesn’t realise how deep the bad days go until he’s leaving the shower and catches sight of the scrawl.

Nathaniel's name isn't written like "Neil". It's childish, uneven, without capitals. It's sharp and unmistakeable. 

The next day, Neil's name is back, cursive and tidy and proud.

Andrew confronts Neil the second time it happens. It's another bad day and it doesn't take long for Andrew to join the very very obvious dots. 

He's not angry. But he can't stop the pitting of his stomach, the old thoughts that he is unwanted, unwanted, unwanted.

“I thought you were leaving Nathaniel behind in Baltimore.”

“I’m trying. I swear.”

“You knew about this? For fucksake Neil, .”

“Don’t. I didn’t... Don’t give up on me..”

"I'm not giving up on you."

"What?" 

"I'm not giving up on you."

Neil leans into Andrew, forehead meeting shoulder as all the panic seeps out of him. 

"Tell me what's going on."

"Taking a turn?"

"If that's what you need."

So Neil explains, or tries to, in stilted sentences that barely make sense, voice ricochetting between certainty and fear. 

It's not their usual talk and Andrew is out of his depth. 

But by the time it's done, nathaniel has become Neil again and Andrew thinks he understands.

On bad days, Neil doesn't believe in himself, doesn't believe this is real, can't accept that he gets to be Neil Josten. 

On bad days, nathaniel can surge to the surface, the survivalist, the son of the butcher.

"It's like a mask and I just retreat behind it, on autopilot."

Andrew's heard of dissociative identity disorder. He's never heard of it affecting soulmarks but honestly, that doesn't surprise him. Marks are personal, private. 

"You're not a pipedream," says Andrew. 

Neil, sighing. "Still feels like a hallucination."

Andrew ponders the problem, helping Neil whenever he can, checking the mark almost religiously to make sure that Neil is Neil and not nathaniel. 

But he's not an expert and he has his own mental health.

He wants to talk to Bee about it. 

He wants Neil to talk to Bee too.

Neil does go, eventually. 

It's after a week where nathaniel's out to play. Andrew won't touch him like this - not more than platonically. He doesn't know how consent works with nathaniel vs Neil, he's not going to cross that line.

And although they never again have a whole week quite as bad as that, the episodes do still happen. 

For years. 

All through Palmetto.

The problem worsens when Andrew graduates - there's weeks where nathaniel runs the show at Palmetto. 

Andrew can't be there but knowing that Neil is struggling is excruciating. 

"I can't leave him dead," Neil says one day over the phone. "I don't think it works like that."

"Then we try something else."

"Andrew..." Neil sounds so tired. "I think we need accept this is part of me. That it's not me vs him. I'm still there. I'm still him." 

Andrew isn't so sure, but Neil is asking and he can hear the exhaustion. "Okay. We'll try it."

It's easier to accept nathaniel than Andrew expected, and harder too. 

It's hard to look at Neil and see all his edges so raw and unhidden. 

It's easy to want him - to protect and hold and steady him.

He doesn't know why it was so impossible before. 

Sunrise. Abram. Death. 

These have always been truths. 

And even if Abram isn't the name on his arm, that's the piece that links nathaniel and Neil. 

They'll work through it. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly.

  
**-THE END-**


	34. The Dream AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil has a recurring dream - it feels him with longing, with heartache, with desire - and then, one day, it comes true.

The first time Neil had the dream he’s in California, burying his mother’s bones.

He’d woken up in the morning half-light and been unable to shake the vision.

_He’d been at a gig?_

He’s never done that so he knows it’s not a memory.

When he closes his eyes he sees it imprinted on his lids : _the blue light, the thrumming bass, the gold eyes staring back at him._

He can feels tears trickling from beneath his lashes - he’s surprised because in the dream he was happy. Deliriously, wonderfully happy. Happy in a way Neil Josten has never been happy. He didn’t even know it could feel so good - like having eaten sunlight.

*

The second time the dream occurs - Neil wakes up laughing.

He’s giddy with excitement.

And then he’s flooded with horror.

He’s alone, hidden in the Millport locker room, anyone could have heard him.

Luckily no one has.

He closes his eyes and tries to hold onto the memory of the person he was smiling at in the dream. Their face escapes him.

He remembers hair so blond it looks blue where the strobes light it.

He remembers eyes the colour of cymbals.

*

He forgets about the dream as he plays more exy. In fact, the next time he has the dream, all thoughts of it are quickly smashed away when he takes an exy stick to the stomach and is faced with Minyard and Day.

His whole world is crumbling, what time does he have for dreams?

It’s not until nearly a year later that he has the dream again.

Neil’s freshly scarred hands touch the tears on his cheeks.

“Bad dream?” Andrew asks, voice rough with sleep from beside him.

“No,” says Neil. “A really good one.”

Andrew squints at him.

“Not like that.”

The person in the dream is still elusive, faceless. But Neil is sure it could be Andrew. The bright hair, the impossible eyes, that overwhelming feeling of safety, the bright light in his chest.

*

It's not until five years later that he has the dream for the final time. It's Nicky's stag-do and they're in Germany.

Andrew is behind him, strong and fierce and unmoving, and Neil turns - the light filters red and pink and then blue from the stage.

Neil's smile is as wide as the world.

And Andrew smiles back.

**-THE END-**


	35. The Wedding Cake AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Aaron's wedding.
> 
> Andrew may or may not have accidentally eaten half the wedding cake after the stag. What's a best man to do?

It's Aaron's wedding. He and Nicky, Erik and Kevin rent an Airbnb near to Katelyn's parents house. 

It's a quaint little lodge at the bottom of a muddy lane, backing onto a farm. 

There are horses in the garden, a dog called Murdoch running around, eager to say hi.

The farm is run by Stuart Hatford, whose son Neil is also up for the wedding - not as a guest but as the caterer. Neil is a chef known for his organic and seasonally crafted menus - also his rather fabulous cakes.

Problem 1: Aaron's stag is the night before the wedding. 

Problem 2: Drunk Kevin spots a cake laden table inside the main farmhouse.

Problem 3: Drunk Nicky starts crying about how beautiful the cake is. 

Problem 4: Drunk Andrew eats the cake.

Cue: Neil waking up early the next morning to find four soporific idiots in his kitchen and half of Aaron's wedding cake missing. 

He looks at his watch. 

Okay, he thinks, there's six hours before the wedding. Time for some Great British Bakeoff inspired speed baking.

He wakes up the monsters and enlists their help. 

"I don't care that you're groomsmen. You ate the fucking cake." 

Andrew makes a compromise. "Nicky could burn soup, let him and Erik take Kevin. Tell Aaron I'll be there and I've got the rings and make sure he doesn't run off."

Neil allows it with narrowed eyes. Andrew notices he is very very pretty for someone so angry. 

He also quickly learns that Neil is an asshole in the kitchen.

FLOUR 

EGGS

MILK

SUGAR 

MAYHEM. 

Classic ingredients for a wedding cake ( and thank god it's not fruit cake).

_Will they make it to Aaron's wedding with a perfect cake?_

_Will they kill each other before the cake can even rise?_

**-TO BE CONTINUED-**


	36. The Rehab AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Tuesdays, FBI Agent Andrew goes to rehab for his blown-out shoulder.
> 
> Neil is living there learning to walk again.
> 
> Romance ensues.

On Tuesdays, FBI Agent Andrew goes to rehab for his blown-out shoulder.

Neil is living there learning to walk again.

Andrew hates Neil on sight - he’s so fucking determined to walk again.

When asked, he says ‘ _I want to run_.’ Like he still believes in fairytales.

That doesn’t mean Andrew doesn’t watch Neil when he’s there - the guy is hard not to look at, like an abstract painting where every time you look there’s something new.

“Rude to stare at a man’s scars,” Neil calls Andrew out.

“Staring at your ass, actually,” Andrew drawls.

They exchange barbs after that.

Neil can be sassy even when he’s sweating balls on his crutches, it seems.

Andrew’s shoulder is nearly there. Neil still struggles to walk 15m.

“But I couldn’t do 1m three months ago so 150% improvement, right?”

“Almost as much as I hate you,” he tells Neil and Neil laughs.

“And how much is that? I doubt you’ve hit abject loathing yet, haven’t tried to cut anything off me yet.” He waggles his hand that’s missing it’s pinky.

Andrew hates his positivity.

Hates how Neil can stay so focused even when the world has always worked against him.

Hates finding out that Neil isn’t an agent but an analyst who turned coat on his notorious criminal family.

Hates knowing that the FBI failed him, that the Wesninskis found him and did this.

But Andrew could never guess how much he’d hate to see that fiery determination squashed either.

When he comes for his last session, Neil is in a rage - he’s on the floor and screaming at his therapist. Andrew knows the scene – knows what must have happened – Neil failing one time more than he can take. Andrew’s been there too. He’s failed and failed and failed and fallen into exactly the same black rage.

But Neil doesn’t calm down.

He moves from rage to panic and suddenly he’s not breathing and Andrew is across the room, batting away the therapist and holding Neil’s neck, telling him to stop. Walking him through how to breathe.

“163%” Andrew tells him. “That’s how much I hate you.”

“Not abject loathing though?”

“164%”

“Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t blow me, right?”

“171%” Andrew snaps but he’s fighting a simmer of a smirk and Neil is too.

Somehow the banter calms them both.

*

When the day comes that Andrew is told he no longer has to come to the unit (so long as you do your exercises), he stops by to see Neil.

Neil is happy for him, he can see that. But there’s a flicker of frustration there too. And… something else.

“When I get out of here,” Neil says. “Will you go on a date with me?”

It’s the last thing Andrew was expecting. “When you _walk_ out of here, I’ll go on a date with you.”

Neil grins.

Because he knows that Andrew isn’t being cruel, he’s saying that because he has faith in Neil.

And because sometimes fairytales are worth believing in.

*

It’s months later that Neil walks out, slow but steady, from the rehab facility.

Leaning against his car, smoking, Andrew sees Neil before Neil sees him.

He’s beautiful, even against the concrete.

When Neil finally spots him, he crosses on sure feet to stand in front of Andrew. Andrew flicks away his cigarette and trails his gaze from the tips of Neil’s toes to his stupidly blue eyes.

“Rude to stare at a man’s scars,” Neil teases.

“Staring at your mouth actually.” It’s the truth. “I’m going to kiss you now, yes or no?”

“Oh abso-fucking-lutely- yes.”

**-THE END-**


	37. A Fox!Neil AU - a premise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the story of how Andrew accidentally adopts a fox but actually it's Neil (obviously).

Andrew is hungover as all hell, sitting at the bus stop and desperately wishing that his car wasn't in the garage.

A sad-looking fox slinks out from behind some bins.

Andrew takes pity on the pathetic thing, giving it part of his bacon sandwich.

The fox gobbles the bacon immediately and when the bus arrives, tries to follow Andrew on board.

The driver tells Andrew off "NO PETS".

Andrew is affronted.

His cats are fat and perfect and spoilt - not mangey, skinny, scarred foxes. As if he'd treat an animal so badly.

He leaves the fox behind. When he comes home - still ropey, headachy, cursing Kevin Day for mixing the drinks so badly last night - the fox is there in his front garden.

He's about to tell it to fuck off but it licks its nose and it's adorable.

He opens the door and lets it in.

\---

This would be the story of how Andrew accidentally adopts a fox but actually it's Neil (obviously).

Fox!Neil sticks around for a while but then wants to be human with Andrew so he spends weeks "bumping" into Andrew as a human until Andrew decides to keep him around in both forms.


	38. A Soft, Autumnal AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s go soft today. Andrew giving Neil the little things he never had before - like cooking that isn't ramen and time to just play in fallen leaves, and a family.

There are too many things Neil hasn’t experienced thanks to his life on the run - and his mother’s harsh hand.

Andrew is on a one man mission to change that.

Food, fun, family. 

Think about Neil never learning to cook more than ramen and Andrew being like ‘fuck this I’ll teach you’ but he only knows basics of baking cookies from Cass.

So they burn everything and Nicky is like ‘no no my sweet children’ and takes over the lessons.

Eventually all the foxes clock onto Nicky’s lessons and come along for dinner night. 

Andrew is just happy that Neil is happy and doesn’t even complain when Neil kisses him and tastes like tomato sauce.

It’s autumn. Andrew finds Neil staring at a pile of leaves. It’s not big.

“Did you see something?”

“No...”

“Then what?”

“I want to pick them up and throw them.”

“Then do it.”

“Am I allowed?” 

And Andrew knows from that tone that once upon a time, Neil was hurt for this.

“Come on,” he says and grabs Neil’s elbow. 

He drags Neil all the way to the uni arboretum. He finds the biggest pile of leaves, lifts Neil off his feet and dunks him in the pile. 

Neil rises up spluttering and laughing and he throws leaves and Andrew and soon enough it’s war.

When they're spent and exhausted - cheeks pink, breath rushed - Neil rolls over to look at Andrew also sprawled in the leaves. 

"Next time," he says, "Can we bring the others?"

Andrew hums. It's not a terrible idea. 

And how could he say no to that face?

  
**-THE END-**


	39. Andrew and Neil’s Most Excellent, Extremely Delicious, Great British Summer (An AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: pure fluff, established relationship, fluff and smut, very British problems, weather chat, queueing, so fluffy you’re gonna die, the foxes turn up like the famous five go off in a convoy, really really really fluffy.

Stuart’s 50th Birthday is coming up and Neil has been told in no uncertain terms that he needs to be there.

Andrew - being the excellent boyfriend that he is - isn’t going to let Neil go hang out with some gangsters on his own, so he tells Neil’s to book them both tickets.

Neil - being an idiot - decides to make this into a month long trip for the U.K. summer.

They’ll have three weeks to meander around the Solent and Dorset and Cornwall and Somerset before they go to London for Stuart’s celebrations.

Only there’s one big problem: Neil is planning this. 

Neil should never be allowed to plan anything.

Neil looks at a map and thinks ‘yeah omg this is gonna be the best - we’ll go to a beer festival, a music festival, eat fresh clotted cream and pick strawberries, and stay in a lighthouse, and sail boats, and swim off The Needles.’

Andrew looks at the itinerary and is like, “I’d rather hang out with gangsters.”

Neil isn’t one to be deterred though and he persuades Andrew by making the most of that neck fetish they both totally find unattractive.

*

So they fly to England. Andrew is fucking miserable as all fuck on the flight because after ten minutes in the air, they flew into a flock of birds and had to turn around, change plane, and take off again. Following this, the turbulence is grim all the way across. And the alcohol is way overpriced.

But they land and Neil drives them from Heathrow down to the coast.

It’s a manual and a Neil is absolutely ruining the gears, but Andrew is too wrung out to care.

They spend the first two days in a flat in Limmington, overlooking the harbour. 

Within hours, Neil’s accent is doing something to make Andrew’s chest feel hot. It’s something about those flattened vowels, something about how dirty he sounds when he says Andrew’s name like that.

Neil notices and uses it entirely to his own advantage. 

*

Neil organised a boat and they bomb off to the Isle of Wight. 

_“Sunniest place in Britain,”_ or so the booklets claim.

Naturally, it is raining. 

Actually, it’s more like a deluge, like an entire cloud has descended on them and they’re stuck inside.

Visibility: zero. 

Knowledge of Solent: zilch

Prior prep: minimal 

Anxiety: yup, very much yup.

It’s ok though, a friendly enough fishing boat helps out when they get caught on one of his lobster pots and even though Andrew can’t understand a word he says, Neil seems happy to let this stranger navigate them into the island.

Sun finally burns off the weather. They spend a day in Cowes, another in Yarmouth, watch some sailing races. They visit Queen Victoria’s summer home because Kevin wouldn't forgive them otherwise. They take a shit tonne of photos with rude captions and share on the Foxes’ group chat.

*

Next stop: Studland. 

Yes, Neil has chosen it because Nicky pointed at it on a map and squealed. 

Turns out it’s a tiny village by the Old Harry Rocks, a place full of smuggler stories and wrecker’s history.

There’s also a beer festival. Andrew admits he might like this one.

They spend three days in Studland, drinking half pints of the strongest beer and cider they’ve ever had. 

There’s a sweet 7.9% cider called Fiery Fox. Andrew decides it reminds him of Neil. 

Neil however, is just endlessly amused by the beer from the River Piddle.

On the last night some locals head down for an after party on the beach, they follow. It’s low tide & the world is frosted by the moon.

Slightly separate from the group, Andrew & Neil walk over the wet sand. 

Neil gasps - it’s a delighted and excited sound Andrew rarely hears.

All around them stars seem to be falling from the sky - one after the other, leaving streaks of white and gold against the darkness. 

They watch the meteor shower until the tide comes in and the party is over, holding hands in the sand, pressed as close as they can with clothes on.

*

From Studland they’re taking the train - they pop into Corfe, amble around Swanage, and start to head along the Jurassic Coast. 

They’ll stop in dozens of small towns along the way - eat Cornish pasties, which Neil is disgusted to find is mostly vegetables, and Cornish ice cream.

Andrew definitely loves the Cornish ice cream. So much so that Neil secretly orders a bunch to be delivered home in September.

They trek through Somerset, visit Wells (where Hot Fuzz was filmed because Andrew watched it on the plane and actually liked it). They stop at a local musical festival here - it’s nothing like Glastonbury - but their necks still hurt the next day from headbanging.

They work their way down to Dittersham - where Neil has decided that more boats are a good idea. 

They’re sailing and sleeping on board. 

Surprisingly, it’s not the worst idea ever. They’re soon sailing along the Devonshire coast, salt in their hair, wind pinking their skin.

Living on the east coast, it’s the first time in years that they’ve seen sunset over the ocean - it’s good food to wash away the aftertaste of their bad memories. 

With each sunset, California seems less real, less painful. 

They will always bear scars, but they can reclaim the ocean.

**-THE END-**


	40. The Ferry Boat AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil is living with the Hatfords. He's recovering, learning how to walk again using a prosthetic, figuring out who he is now.
> 
> Andrew is backpacking - he's graduated, has nothing planned, isn't really sure that he wants to live.
> 
> They meet on a ferry on the Thames.

Neil is living with the Hatfords. He's recovering, learning how to walk again using a prosthetic, figuring out who he is now.

Andrew is backpacking - he's graduated, has nothing planned, isn't really sure that he wants to live.

They meet on a ferry on the Thames.

It was Nicky's suggestion to take the ferries in London.

"You'll see parts of the city from such a different perspective, Andrew. SO worth it," he said, voice thin over the phone, no doubt uncertain about hearing from Andrew at all.

They hadn't spoken since graduation - since they sold the house in Columbia, since Aaron pissed off north with Katelyn and Nicky packed up to Germany.

The Monsters were all going their separate ways, attempts at family falling flat.

And Andrew knew it was his fault. He was cursed when it came to family. It only made sense he’d ruin things for Nicky too.

He knew he should have let Nicky move on.

But he'd picked up the phone and rung the number Nicky had only rattled off once, clearly not thinking either twin would ever call him.

"I'm backpacking," Andrew said. "In Europe. Starting in London."

"When?" Nicky asked.

"Now."

Andrew was already in Heathrow when he called.

Shoved clothes in a bag and boarded the first international flight from South Carolina - anything to get away from Kevin and the endless nagging about pro exy.

It hadn't been planned. He'd paid his visa in the departures lounge.

Nicky took it all in stride - despite the strain in his suggestions, there was hope in the way his words trembled too.

"Okay, so this is what Erik and I did when we visited England," he began.

*

And that was how Andrew came to be on a ferry boat.

April clung around London's edges, chilly and damp and decidedly gloomy, leaving the Thames as a murky brown and winding thing below a sky that was blue and grey, dappled as a welsh pony. London Bridge loomed across the scene, imposingly Victorian.

The Thames Clipper pulled up just as Andrew was considering whether this was worth it.

He was cold.

He wanted coffee.

And he'd been waiting thirteen minutes for a ferry that was supposedly on its way but that he couldn't see anywhere on the river - until it was there.

Once onboard, he spots three things.

> 1) a coffee bar - thank fuck for the Brits and their fancy ferry boats
> 
> 2) the ferry is almost full
> 
> 3) in the bows, there's a young man sitting with his face in the wind, hair a flash of colour on this dreary London morning.

As he buys his coffee, Andrew's eyes keep snagging on that one stranger.

He's all angles, softened by a navy woollen coat and dark jeans.

He's probably an idiot, his gaze is vacant and barely aware of what's happening around him.

He is very very very stupidly pretty.

Now Andrew isn't usually one for creeping on strangers but there's a handful of seats left on the ferry and one of them happens to be across the aisle from this guy so, forgetting self-preservation for now, Andrew plops himself down in the chair, dropping his backpack between them.

He doesn’t keep stealing glances. Not of red hair or freckled skin or pale scars or long, fine fingers.

They're headed towards Putney - that's where Andrew's going anyway. After one night in a hostel, he's found an AirBnB that'll suit him much better.

The river views are great - seeing the Globe and the Eye and Westminster from the water does have a certain glow about it.

Andrew's distractedness is what nearly sees his bag nicked from under his nose.

He's peering out of the window, taking in the bridges, when a cane whips out of no where and smacks down across a thin, pilfering arm.

Jerking round, Andrew sees the following:

_A skinny little white kid, buzz cut, bad teeth, wide, terrified eyes._

_The stupidly pretty stranger glaring down at him, cane trapping him by the wrist._

_His bag, shifted a few inches and clearly about to be stolen from under his nose._

Andrew doesn't know what he's more angry about - his own idiocy or the stranger's involvement.

"Apologise," the stranger says to the weedling thief. "And then piss off."

The man shouldn't be intimidating - he's wiry and fine-boned, almost elfin in the face - and yet there's a chill to his tone, a coldness in his eyes, that makes the hairs on Andrew's neck prick to attention.

The boy stutters out a 'sorry' and flees to the back of the boat, leaving Andrew and the stranger to lock eyes.

With the would-be-thief gone, the man's eyes have thawed. They're arctic blue, the colour of the sky over snowy mountains.

"That wasn't your business," says Andrew.

"Used to travel a lot, and your bag still has a luggage tag on it. Guessing you don't want to lose that." The man shrugs. "I'm Neil, by the way. No need to thank me."

"Wasn't going to."

"Archie's a good kid," says Neil. "He just makes a lot of mistakes."

"You knew him?"

"Somewhat. Works for my uncle. Or his brother does. So don't worry, he'll be properly handled later."

Andrew doesn't really understand any of this.

He's struggling with the flat vowels and clipped consonants.

The accent. Is doing. Things. To his stomach.

"So And-rew-Min-ya-rd."

Neil continues, peering at the luggage tag and reading his name upside down.

Blue eyes jump upwards, that distracting mouth drops open.

"Wait. No. Fox Goalie Andrew Minyard?"

Andrew scowls.

Neil cocks his head.

"I always imagined you taller."

Andrew's scowl turns into a full glare. It's as much expression as his face ever shows.

He knows he must look different - swaddled in an oversized black hoodie, pulled over his head, unwashed after vetoing going near the hostel shower, out of context in this fucking grey city.

But still.

"I'm sorry," Neil says. "You probably didn't take a holiday to talk exy with fans. But I have to say, that one interview you did third year? when all the crap at Edgar Allen came out and you corrected that journalist who kept calling the former Ravens victims..."

Andrew blinks.

He remembered that interview - well he should as it was the only one he ever did as a Fox.

Kathy Ferdinand had kept calling Kevin and Jean 'victims' on her show.

Andrew stopped her four times, correcting her.

"Survivors. They're survivors. Say it with me."

"I was in hospital... because of my father," Neil says. The words are slightly stilted, hesistant. "It meant a lot to hear someone stand up for them."

Andrew wants to hate him then.

Andrew wants to hate Neil for interrupting his ferry ride, for talking to him for so long, for oversharing and being unfairly good-looking.

Andrew _should_ on principle alone, hate Neil.

But there's a darkness in his words and a light in his eyes that shows a level of understanding Andrew's never seen before.

Not in Bee or Aaron or Nicky or Coach.

Not even in Renee, with her history of knives and violence and capacity to keep living.

Finally, when the silence has certainly stretched too far, Andrew nods.

And Neil grins.

It's a wicked, sharp thing. Andrew really does hate it.

*

Neither realise then, that the single affirmation Andrew’s just given will lead to a second coffee on the ferry when they both miss their stop.

Nor will it sink in that it led from one coffee and conversation to another, to a bottle of wine at The Ship and a second at The Alma.

Neil soon becomes a staple part of Andrew's London adventures.

They walk down Portobello at 5am and the stalls are just opening.

They trek across Regent's Park, amble around the Serpentine, visit galleries and hidden cafes, take ferries along the river, talk and talk and talk.

Andrew notices that Neil's leg will bother him if they walk too far or for too long. He won't say anything, won't complain, but he'll lean on his cane more heavily, limp more obviously.

It gets to a point where Andrew makes sure to build lunch breaks and pubs into their days. Neil definitely realises what Andrew's done but doesn't bring it up.

"Glad you're embracing the British drinking culture," he says instead when they end up in the Duke of Kendall one afternoon in May.

Neil nurses a lager shandy. Andrew finishes his second Camden Pale.

It's sunny and bright, one of those early summer days where everything feels soft and warm and full of grassy smells. The day has been good - they hit up Neil's favourite farmers market – but Andrew couldn't ignore the way Neil was wincing as they walked back through Marylebone.

And when they go to leave, Neil's whole body flinches as soon as he puts weight on his leg.

Andrew pushes him back down onto the bench.

"We can get a cab."

"I can walk."

"Not right now you can't."

"Fuck you," Neil says but there's no heat there, just frustration.

Andrew knows that Neil's leg has something to do with injuries his father gave him, just like the scars on his face and forearms – though he doesn't know the finer details and doesn’t feel the need to ask.

Neil’s a survivor. His past isn’t something he owes Andrew.

Plus, he already knows that Neil goes to physical therapy two mornings a week. And it doesn’t take a genius to see that recently Neil's been in much more pain than before, either.

They hail a cab.

Even the very short walk across the pavement has Neil hissing. "Fucking stupid bloody leg."

Neil's lips pull back as he all but drags himself into the cab. And that's when Andrew sees the metal ankle, the prosthetic poking out from Neil's trouser leg.

His expression might not change, years of being passive keeping his face in check - but Neil's not an idiot, he notices where Andrew's eyes linger.

"Yeah," he says. He sounds caught between fury and embarrassment. "My dad cut off my fucking leg. You can stop staring now."

Andrew doesn't stop staring. "Is he in prison?"

"No. Dead."

"Did you kill him?"

"We're in a black cab, I'm not answering that."

But there's a sickly smile on his face that tells Andrew that even if Neil didn't pull the trigger, he was there to watch his father die.

Andrew doesn't offer words of comfort or condolence.

He reaches forward, brushes Neil's chin with his thumb and invites Neil for dinner.

They will have a proper conversation that night.

Swap truth for truth because any other level of honesty hurts like a vein cut open.

About Neil and his family, how his mother ran, how his father chased, how his mother burned, how his father's cleaver fell to the floor with his body - skin and blade shiny with Neil's blood.

About the Hatfords, London and his sense of purposelessness.

"Sounds like that new leg isn't helping you," Andrew comments, when Neil explains that they were trying a new type of prosthetic, hence the recent problems.

"I just want to run again," Neil says very quietly. "I know it's unlikely but running let me out of my head."

About Andrew and Aaron and Nicky. About the offers to play pro exy. About Kevin's inability to let the Ravens go or his visions of the perfect court.

About Andrew's will to live.

About travelling around the UK and Europe, seeing Nicky at least once more.

"Sounds like he loves you, your cousin," Neil says. He's sprawled on Andrew's sofa, prosthetic propped against the arm, looking more at ease than Andrew's seen in days.

Andrew hums. He knows that Neil is right.

There are lighter topics too - cars and markets and food and ferries.

Neil calls a number at one point and tells Andrew to look out his window about half an hour later - there's a Morris Minor parked on the road that wasn't there when they arrived.

"Take it," Neil tells him. "It was my mother's but I can't use it. Go to Scotland. Take it to Germany."

"Come with me."

Neil looks pained. "It could be weeks before I can do that, Andrew."

"Then I'll wait. Come with me. To Edinburgh. To Cardiff. To Newcastle. To Stuttgart."

*

Neil doesn’t say no.

Although it does take weeks before they're on the road.

Which gives Andrew time to be pulled aside by Stuart Hatford and given the most polite shovel talk of his life. Neil finds the whole thing hilarious when Andrew tells him.

Still by the end of May they pack up the tiny trunk, shove a duffle and a backpack side by side and set off.

Andrew's fingers find Neil's as they drive.

He doesn't know what'll happen at the end of the summer.

But he's looking forward to finding out.

-THE END-


	41. The DnD AU - A Premise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew has played DnD for as long as he can remember (which is pretty much forever) but his latest DM, Kevin Day, has told the players that someone new is going to join their group of Monsters.
> 
> Enter Neil Josten and his black-and-gold dice and dangerous smile.

Andrew has played DnD for as long as he can remember (which is pretty much forever) but his latest DM, Kevin Day, has told the players that someone new is going to join their group of Monsters.

Enter Neil Josten and his black-and-gold dice and dangerous smile.

And Neil slowly comes out of his shell as he plays a gnome barbarian (speedy little tank). He weirdly befriends Aaron's goliath paladin but takes almost instant (and amusing) offence to Nicky's tiefling bard. 

Renee's tiefling ranger is accepted with wary warmth. 

But Andrew...

Andrew plays an apparently human warlock (he's not, he's a changeling). And Neil's barbarian really seems to be suspicious of him.

Andrew finds the game between them thrilling. The characters trying to outsmart each other as much as the challenges set by Kevin.

*

Basically I want a long story about the Foxes navigating a long and treacherous DnD campaign and there are parallels between the characters they create and who they are as people (but not always the obvious matches). It would alternate between fantasy and real worlds...

Be full of all the banter and discussions around lore and magic and whose turn it is to make more snacks and those moments where you emerge from the otherside of the game feeling a little untethered from reality and less human but also brilliant.


	42. The Rescue Kittens AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Andrew sees his new neighbour, he’s crouched down and talking to a cat. Andrew’s cat.
> 
> The neighbour’s face is obscure - but he has a lean build, shabby clothes, red hair that needs a comb, and hands that have turned Andrew’s cat into a puddle of fluff.
> 
> King sprawls on her back, furry belly exposed, paws curling and uncurling in the air. Andrew can imagine her face - eyes closed two little teeth peeking out, whiskers lifted.
> 
> The absolute cheek.

**Part I**

The first time Andrew sees his new neighbour, he’s crouched down and talking to a cat. Andrew’s cat.

The neighbour’s face is obscure - but he has a lean build, shabby clothes, red hair that needs a comb, and hands that have turned Andrew’s cat into a puddle of fluff.

King sprawls on her back, furry belly exposed, paws curling and uncurling in the air. Andrew can imagine her face - eyes closed two little teeth peeking out, whiskers lifted.

_The absolute cheek._

Andrew scowls. He’s not going to break this thing up, but he doesn’t like it.

Later King will chirrup for her dinner and he’ll call her a coy little cheat whilst adding chicken to her dish.

She’ll wrap her body between his ankles and Andrew will rub her ears to make her purr.

He’ll forget about the new neighbour.

Until a week goes by and the house across the road will suddenly hum with life - there’s five of them carrying paint pots, wearing overalls, yelling and laughing and unloading furniture.

The neighbour himself is apparently called Neil - if the shouting is anything to go by.

Andrew is not impressed. He keeps King inside until the hubbub dies down.

Andrew is a writer - he works from home - the noise of the week goes by in a blur of irritation and relief.

Relief because he has an excuse at least for why the blank page keeps staring at him, taunting him.

Irritation because the noisy neighbour is irritating. Simple.

The first month passes, Andrew falls back into his routine - sitting to write, failing to write, walking a bit, hitting the gym, coming back and failing to write some more, feeding King, feeding himself, reading because writing still isn’t happening.

Deadlines are chasing him, nipping at his heels.

He can’t do anything to stop them though.

He’s been facing the Great Wall of Despair since November and it’s now January.

Nothing has changed.

He still killed off his main character in the last book only to have his publisher tell him that his contract required two more in the series. Kevin, his agent, was furious - the contract said five books, not a quintet - but really, what had he expected from Evermore Press?

So Andrew sat here - day after day - trying to decide how to bring a character back from the dead without destroying his credibility as a writer (or his soul) in the process.

And now he has this fucking neighbour who keeps playing with his cat right in front of his window.

Andrew’s cat.

When Andrew knows full well that Neil the neighbour has his own cat.

He saw that very tall friend of Neil’s carry several cat trees inside.

_Neil clearly had his own cat and should leave King the fuck alone._

Andrew is working late when he sees Neil arrive home with a bundle in his arms - he’s holding it close and protective. He goes into his house then comes out a minute later, striding across the road to Andrew’s.

The bell rings.

“The fuck does this guy want,” Andrew says to King on his way down.

The bell rings again.

Andrew opens the door, scowling.

Neil the neighbour stands on his doorstep like something from a novel – all scars and sharp cheekbones. It’s the first time Andrew’s seen him up close and he thanks years of practiced impassivity for keeping his cool when he meets Neil’s eyes. They are coldest blue, the blue of mountains in snow, the blue of shadows on a tundra.

“The fuck do you want?”

To his credit, Neil doesn’t flinch at Andrew’s tone.

“I found a kitten. You have a cat.”

“I don’t want another cat,” Andrew says. “Don’t bring it here.”

“I’m not. No. Wait,” Neil runs a hand through his windswept hair. There’s another scar at his temple. “Do you have milk?”

Andrew blinks. “You need cat food.”

“Just milk. Just for tonight. I’ll take them to the vet in the morning. But their eyes are still blue so I don’t think they’re eating solids yet and I don’t have milk in the house.”

Andrew shuts the door in Neil’s face.

There’s a half pint of lactose-free milk in the fridge, he pours a small bowl for King then goes back to the door.

Neil isn’t there - Andrew probably should have told him to wait. He crosses the road, sees Neil going to knock on another door further down the road.

“Neil,” Andrew calls.

Neil’s head whips round at his name, a flash of something in his expression when he sees Andrew - and then it’s gone and he’s smiling. It’s a heartbreaker’s smile - guileless and cattish.

Andrew’s chest absolutely does not catch.

“Thank you, you’re amazing,” says Neil.

“This is lactose free milk for cats - you don’t want to give them dairy, that can make them sick. Warm it up before you feed them. Not too much. Test it on your finger first.” He eyes Neil whose smile has turned serious. “Keep them warm. Kittens don’t retain body heat well.”

Andrew remembers when he rescued King. She’d come from a box of kittens left by the bus stop, so tiny and helpless that Andrew had taken them all straight to the rescue shelter. But he’d kept her - the loudest, angriest one in the litter.

When he goes home, leaving Neil to deal with his furry little problem, he goes back to his computer.

Freckled skin and scars, wild hair and frostbite eyes - he feels the beginning of a story in his fingers.

He sits down and starts to write.

*

Fate isn't something that Neil believes in - but after that night with the kitten, it seems the universe is determined to have him run into Andrew Minyard, grouchiest man on the street, all the time.

At the gym, where Neil sees his physio.

At the store, where Neil now buys kitten food.

At the coffee shop, where Neil looks at whatever job openings Matt and Dan have sent him this week.

At the-

Well, actually those are all the places Neil goes. His life is small these days.

Sighing, Neil drags a hand through his hair and looks wistfully down the road, longing to run. He'll get there eventually - the physio keeps telling him there's every chance he'll run again - but it's hard to believe when he's having to use a cane again just to stay upright.

Sir, his kitten, however, seems to love his cane. She rubs her little grey face against it and makes the tiny croaking sound that she calls a mew. She is, frankly, the best thing that's happened to him since everything went down with his father two years ago.

Matt and Dan would be proud of him – they’d given him all their old cat stuff when he moved, telling him that a pet would help. They were right. Coming home to her makes everything just a little bit easier.

_Hell, he's calling this new house "home" now._

Hobbling into the kitchen, Neil makes tea and goes back to his porch. He's fairly certain he can see a blond head in the window opposite but tries to ignore it. Andrew definitely watches him - but Neil's been stalked before and he doesn't think Andrew is quite there. _Yet_.

Days pass as they always do - routines falling into place.

Andrew doesn't much speak to Neil when they cross paths, just kind of glowers and stalks away, but Neil tries to stay polite, to say hello, even if it is to Andrew's retreating back.

At the gym one Thursday - Neil is leaving the physio room when he hears a very familiar crying sound.

Looking around, Neil sees a grill in the carpark and when he squints into the darkness below, he can see three golden blobs, muddy and crying for help.

_More kittens._

Neil coos down to them as he tries to find a way to open the grill, fingers searching for purchase, just like they used to search for weaknesses in handcuffs and window locks.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'll get you out, promise I will. Don't be scared, it's okay."

But he can't find a weakness. Which means he needs leverage. Neil's cane is in the car, left there out of pride.

"I'll be back, lovies. I'm coming back."

He limps as fast as possible to retrieve it, ruing the day that his father caught up to him and his mom in Seattle.

"Come on," he says, trying to hook the handle of his cane around the grill. "Come on, come on, come on."

The metal groans and lifts just a tiny bit.

But Neil is healing - he's not as strong as he was. His left leg trembles at the pressure he's putting on it.

"Fucking fuck."

"Is that any way to talk in front of children?"

Whirling around, Neil finds Andrew, face slightly pink from the gym, sweaty but face impassive.

"They're stuck. And I can't." Neil waves at the grill, frustration making his voice honest. "I need to help them."

"Hmm." Andrew steps forward, asking silently for Neil to move aside.

Eying the cane, he wraps careful hands around the shaft. Neil can only stare as Andrew's body tenses, expression shifting into high focus and the grill slowly lifts, lifts, lifts -- clatters open to the earth.

Still slackjawed, Neil watches as Andrew drops to his knees, then his belly, arms reaching into the new hole and scooping out three pathetic little kittens, their eyes still closed.

"Take them to Aaron," Andrew says. "The vet on Eighth. Tell the reception I sent you."

Andrew glowers at the open grill. "I'll sort out this."

Neil finds his arms full with three kittens and his cane, Andrew's attention definitely no longer on him.

"Thank you," he says.

"Fuck off," Andrew replies. "And go to the vet."

So Neil fucks off and goes to the vet and nearly dies when he sees Andrew in scrubs by the reception.

He gawps. He frowns. He realises Andrew must be a twin because this guy's name tag says Aaron and--

OH.

"Hi," Neil says. "Andrew sent me to you with these."

Aaron's glare is just as strong as Andrew's - and holds more acid.

"Kittens. Again. Are you joking? Where did he get them this time?"

"Uhhh..."

"Come on, out with it, where are they from? And why did he send you?"

"I found them? At the gym? He just helped me help them?" _Why is everything coming out as a question?_

Neil gathers himself. He's faced down actually dangerous people, had his leg nearly amputated by a cleaver, been shot twice - these twins with their bullet gold eyes can either help him or get lost --

Aaron's eyebrow lifts.

Neil realises he's said all of this out loud and the reception is silent.

"Oh fucking hell. Just look at these kittens and tell me if they're okay and then I'll go."

Aaron does take them.

He beckons Neil with him.

Turns out the kittens are pretty healthy - probably weren't alone long. After a careful bath, Aaron asks what Neil wants to do with them.

"We can pass them along to a shelter, we have foster homes who can help from there."

"Can't I take them?"

"All of them?"

"Yes?"

Aaron - seemingly reluctant - agrees.

The clinic give Neil a carrier and instructions for looking after them.

Sir seems relatively excited to have more kittens in the house when they arrive home.

Neil's nights and days become busier as he works around their tiny lives.

There are jabs and checks. There's feeding and toilet training. There's Sir who seems to think they're toys half the time. It's something to do - Neil likes it.

He likes having purpose again.

*

Meanwhile Andrew is writing.

Andrew is really truly writing. He's unlooped some old plot twists and found ways to make this godforsaken fourth novel pretty darn good.

And okay, if the protagonist just so happens to have been hired by a mysterious, untrustworthy red head?

Well. Andrew's never pretended not to draw from life. This is a series about a man who grew up much like Andrew did - who passed from family to family and never found home - but instead of being a writer of crime, this protagonist fights it. He lives off grid, doesn't exist on any lists except the most top secret, he makes promises and never breaks them, he saves people from the worst of the world.

And he was meant to die on page 392 of book three but now he's back because that's the deal Andrew signed.

Andrew... doesn't hate this story.

Oh, he hates Evermore Press and sometimes Kevin Day for not reading the fine print, but the awful aching nothingness of his writer's block has passed.

Because of Neil the neighbour who Andrew's memory is quite sure he recalls from somewhere.

The incident with the kittens only helped. There was something about the fury in Neil's eyes as he battled the grill that sparked with Andrew. As soon as he saw that expression, he knew Neil was going to fight to free those ridiculous kittens, even if he hurt himself. _Idiot_.

So Andrew writes and he turns over a mostly finished draft to Kevin, who promises notes by the end of the week.

The week without his book is a strange one.

He notices that Neil has now homed no fewer than seven kittens.

That there are little gold ones and a tortoiseshell and a black one with one leg and a titchy tabby that looks like it’s face was attacked. The first - the grey - seems to lead the pack. And Neil scrambles after them like his life’s mission is to provide for them.

There are moments where Andrew wants to know what the hell is going on in that skull - why he keeps bringing the things home - but he watches instead.

_Okay, he watches and he talks to Aaron._

Aaron seems to have taken a bit of a liking to Andrew's weird cat-obsessed neighbour.

"He's got a tongue on him," Aaron says. "But he cares, that much is clear."

Andrew presses for details but Aaron cites doctor patient privilege.

"You're a bloody vet. The cats are your patients not Neil."

Aaron hangs up on him.

But Andrew is curious. More than curious. He's slightly obsessive. It's a problem he's often struggled with as a writer - falling down the rabbit hole after an idea, unable to claw his way out until the story is finished. Neil is a puzzle. A maths problem that doesn't add up. Andrew wants to solve him.

And it annoys him to no end that Neil doesn't want to be solved. The man keeps odd hours, doesn't have a job as far as Andrew can tell, spends all his time with the kittens, and visits exactly four places: the store, the gym, home, and the vet.

Andrew has to make an effort. Which he resents. Massively. When Andrew runs into Neil at the store, he forces himself to stop and talk back. When they see each other at the gym, he nods in greeting or goodbye. When Neil's out on the porch, Andrew starts taking him coffee.

It's all on pretence of the kittens. Making sure the one's they rescued together are okay. Passing on "messages" from Aaron. Offering more cat-friendly milk when he's sure another handful of fur balls have been picked up and added to the household.

"Why?" Andrew asks one day.

"Huh?" Neil replies, because he is an idiot.

"Why do you keep bringing them home?"

Neil frowns. "They're orphans. They need a home."

"But you don't have to take every cat you find."

The furrows in Neil's brows deepen. "But I can. I mean," he waves a hand around his house. "I have all this now and nothing better to do. Why not look after them?"

Andrew doesn't say anything. There are plenty of reasons he can think of for not having nearly ten cats in one house.

He shrugs and Neil's face softens.

One of the kittens is in his lap - the small tabby with a broken face. Neil's fingers are endlessly gentle with them, and Andrew finds it fascinating to watch the scars over his knuckles and wrists.

Something violent was done to Neil. There's no way those scars are accidental. Yet he never shows that side to his cats. There are flashes when they talk - shadows that speak of ineluctable secrets, of cruelty and rage, of a survivor's instinct. But Neil remains unsolvable.

*

Andrew's notes came back, he came by to tell Neil he'd be busy for a while before vanishing across the other side of the street. Neil is surprised to find he misses him. Misses the coffee. Misses the company. Misses having someone around again.

He talks to Matt and Dan on the phone – they still live in New York, the last place that Neil was safe before his father found him.

After he was kidnapped, tortured, shot - after he survived - Neil tried to go home to them but found the city was no longer welcoming. He saw threats around every corner, saw pity in the faces of people he'd known for years, was terrified of everything and anything and couldn't make himself stay there any longer. Moving state helped. Moving somewhere quiet and sleepy helped. The cats helped.

And lately, Andrew helped. Conversation wasn't something Neil had a lot of any more – retreating behind his front door when he wasn't completing one of his daily tasks. He hadn't realised how much he missed it. Hadn't realised he was lonely.

Of course, he knew it wasn't going to last with Andrew. He knew he was an object of intrigue to the writer - the man was honest, brutally so - and he fully expected Andrew's interest to disappear. That didn't mean he didn't yearn for even that basic companionship now it was gone.

So there he sits on the sofa, leg aching, talking to Sir.

"And here I am acting like the lovelorn people we laugh at on the TV," he says to her. She's big now - long and sleek and golden eyed. "It's not like he and I are even friends."

_But they could have been, right?_

_Maybe. Possibly._

*

Neil makes a bit more effort in the next few weeks to do things other than catsit and do stretches and wish he could run. He looks at swimming classes - a sport his physio is keen for him to take up - and joins a local group that trains Thursday afternoons.

The group isn't huge - maybe ten - but it's more people than he's been around in a while and he's glad he invested in the underworks body suit to swim in.

"You know the pool is heated right, scarface?" quips one guy whose name Neil thinks might be Jack.

Neil ignores him.

The water is warm but not too warm and as soon as the instructor says go, Neil is off, underwater and into the silence, delightedly free. He finishes feeling out of shape but happy.

"That was impressive. You've not trained before?" asks the instructor, Renee.

Shaking his head, Neil says, "Not in swimming."

She's nice, the instructor, but there are scars on her palms that are infinitely familiar to Neil and he's not sure how he feels about that.

"Well I hope you come back. We've some intercity races coming up. You could compete."

When he comes home that evening, he's exhausted but happy and he greats his furbabies with a huge yawn that they all catch.

"Come on, you feral bastards," he says, "Tea time."

They've all learnt the phrase 'tea time' fast than their names.

He doesn't think of Andrew that night. But he does dream about him. In the dream, Neil is drowning and Andrew is throwing pages of a manuscript into the water. The words are melting off the page and Neil is choking on them.

**Part II**

While Neil is spending time with his many cats, Andrew disappears back across the road to work on the edits of his book - with a character that's not so subtly inspired by his mysterious neighbour.

Andrew stares at Kevin's notes like the book is a monster.

"You can't tell me you didn't realise," Kevin says, all green glare and gritted teeth. "You can't have not known, Andrew." 

"I based the character off my neighbour with all the fucking cats – of course I didn't bloody know." Andrew's hands are in his hair, his stomach twists. "Tell me you haven't already sent a copy off to them."

"You know I did - Riko needed proof of progress."

"Everything? Did you send everything?"

"Yes," Kevin says, "Because that's how this works. You know that as well as I do."

Kevin sighs and Andrew can't fucking breathe. "Look, it's a good book," Kevin says. "I don't know why you're freaking out so much. It only makes sense you'd be inspired by the Butcher of Baltimore - although it's eerie how close you came to describing Nathaniel, and I know that's going to piss off Evermore. But it is good."

Andrew's anger is the only thing that ever breaks his shell - so far he's been internally screaming whilst externally impassive - that façade can't hold in the face of Kevin's words.

His fists tear from his head, slam on the table - shoving notes, books, laptop onto the floor.

There's a yelp - Kevin's - but Andrew isn't done yet.

Fury, burning strong as the day he made his deal with Kevin, laces up and down his body.

Electric.

Uncontrollable.

His reflection shimmers in the window and his fist goes through the glass before he can think.

"Andrew! Fucking stop."

But Andrew doesn't need to be told. There's cuts on his hand, cuts on his wrist, blood trickling down his skin and being soaked into his armband.

The pain is clear sky after a brutal winter and he looks up - out of the window.

Neil stares up at him. Neil stares and then he’s hobbling on his cane into his house, running away from Andrew as if he knows what Andrew has done.

_What has he fucking done?_

Riko Moriyama is the heir apparent to Evermore Press - a business set up to keep the second sons of the Moriyama Empire busy and away from the main branch. He was Kevin's best friend and then boyfriend growing up. He was also a gaslighter, financially controlling, an abuser. Kevin extricated himself from the relationship slowly - and only with help from Andrew. Because Kevin had a contract with Evermore Press. And Riko wouldn't let him go unless it was fulfilled. Not unless Kevin was willing to face legal ruination.

 _It was bullshit._ So Andrew stepped into the punch.

A new deal was brokered. Andrew - who's first book was an indie best seller - would sell the next five to Evermore.

Kevin would walk free of his contract.

Riko would back the hell off.

But now here was Kevin - _Kevin, Kevin, Kevin -_ who just kept playing by Evermore's rules, who kept letting their strings dance to Riko's tune, and Neil – who as soon as Kevin mentioned the Butcher – made so much sense.

Andrew's memory was picture perfect – he'd known there was something odd about Neil the neighbour, cat-collecting aside. Something familiar. Overlay the man across the road with the brown haired, hollow eyed, twenty-year-old that was in the papers two years ago and...

 _Neil must have been wearing contacts._ Andrew stares past his bloody hand to Neil's door. _There was no way he'd have forgotten those stupidly blue eyes._

It’s then that he sees Neil's door open again, sees the man using his cane to keep the kittens inside. There's a red box under his arm. And Neil is coming across the road. Neil is coming over to Andrew's house. Neil is ringing the bell.

"I'll just get that shall I?" Kevin says.

He doesn't wait for Andrew's answer.

Not that Andrew *can* answer.

He's pulled his hand back from the glass - there are shards in his palm, glittering in the ridges of his fingers.

There's a commotion down stairs - harsh words that swim up through the haze of Andrew's thoughts. He can't translate them.

When Neil appears at his side, paler than ever, medical kit in his hand, Andrew almost laughs. _All this time he's been trying to figure Neil out and his subconscious knew the answer all along._

*

Neil doesn't know what to say when he sees Kevin Day for the first time in decades. He doesn't know what to say but Kevin does. Something about a book and idiocy and was Neil trying to get them all killed? But Neil doesn't really care about Kevin. He cares about Andrew.

_And when did that even happen?_

“You could have wrecked your hand,” Neil says, holding out his own. “Let me clean it?”

“Oh woe is me, where would I be without my hand?” Andrew’s voice is laced with a mania Neil does not recognise.

But he gives his arm to Neil and Neil uncurls his fingers to see the damage.

It’s not as bad as it looks. Neil can handle this with skin glue and anti septic. So he does - removing tiny shards of glass first, sterilising the wounds. Turning to the bigger ones with infinite care - care his mother never afforded him - and sticking Andrew back together.

“Of course you’d know how to do this,” Andrew mutters. “Not so mysterious Neil.”

Realisation is a cold and damp thing crawling around Neil’s throat.

He thinks of Kevin in the door. He thinks of Andrew’s visits to the kittens.

They’ve figured him out, must know his dead name. Know who he’d been.

Well, he knew he couldn’t keep this. Couldn’t keep Andrew and his intrigue.

“I should go,” Neil says.

But Andrew’s hand twitches where it’s still in his own - an unconscious tightening that says ‘stay’.

Neil doesn’t move. “Perhaps,” he says instead. “We could all do with a cup of tea.”

“I don’t keep tea.”

“I do. Come to mine. Kevin,” Neil says but doesn’t look over his shoulder where the other man hovers. “You can come too.”

There’s nothing tea and kittens can’t solve after all.

They don’t bother locking up Andrew’s house when they leave for Neil’s and King, Andrew’s cat decides to follow. She curls up on Andrew’s lap as soon as they’re settled in Neil’s living room, her sharp eyes watching the umpteen kittens with scepticism.

Kevin looks horrified. “How many do you bloody have?”

Neil has scooped up Sir - though Lady and Lorde are trying to climb his leg. He shakes them off, stretching his left leg gingerly. It aches today. Aches and aches.

“Eleven I think? And two are with Aaron right now.”

The horror on Kevin’s face only deepens.

His fingers around his cup of tea are white.

“Relax,” Neil says. “You’ll break the china.”

Andrew snorts.

 _Yes_ , Neil thinks, _it’s hard to imagine Kevin ever relaxes._ His face is all frown lines. 

“So maybe one of you had better explain,” Neil suggests. He rubs Sir’s ears, relishes the way she purrs and her claws sting through his jeans.

And Andrew does.

It’s unhalting and horribly honest - and Neil can feel his heart struggling to keep steady.

Sir helps though. She purrs loudly when Neil’s guts tangle around the knowledge that there’s now a book that’s essentially about him. She digs into his knees when he’s in danger of sliding off into his memories. She starts to knead when he rubs at his ruined leg and winces as Andrew starts to explain.

Riko Moriyama - he hadn’t thought about that boy in years.

 _And why would he?_ The Moriyamas had been tangled up in the Butcher case (too many traceable payments to a mass murderer to be disguised). But Neil had nothing to do with that side of the investigation.

Hell, he barely had anything to do beyond witnessing his father’s work in the basement - it’s not like he knew who Nathan worked for or why. He’d been a child and then he’d been a prisoner.

So why is Andrew so angry?

*

Andrew isn’t angry.

Andrew isn’t anything right now.

King sits on his lap.

There are kittens bloody everywhere.

The tea is cooling in his hands.

His skin is too tight.

His skull is too small.

His ribs are a cage.

When he looks at Neil, he doesn’t know how to breathe. Because he gets why Neil is throwing this off, barely blinking, isn’t getting it. He’s been through worse than Riko. Just like Andrew has. Riko is nothing compared to the Butcher.

And yet... And yet Andrew hates this - hates Neil - because the idiot can’t see that whatever danger is now due, it’ll be Andrew’s fucking fault. _Okay, he’s a bit angry_.

“You don’t understand,” Kevin says. “Riko will go to any lengths to control you when he finds out what Andrew’s done.”

“You mean ‘if’ right? Why would we tell him anything? And why the hell would he think he could control me?”

Neil scowls and for a second Andrew breathes.

“I mean _when_.” Kevin finally discards his mug and gives into the headbutting of the gold coated Prince. “He’s obsessed with me, with us. And given your ties to his family... to what happened to Kengo...”

“Okay, so he has daddy issues. He’s not special.”

 _Brave. Foolish. Beautiful. Idiot._ “Do you have any self perseveration instincts?” Andrew asks.

“I’ve not survived everything I’ve survived to be scared of your fucking publisher. What’s he going to do? Give me a paper cut?” Neil is savage with his glare. Andrew should burn. “I won’t pretend I’m not annoyed that you wrote about me - even if you somehow lived under a rock and missed the news, you still used me. Made me think we were—” Neil shakes his head clear. “Well fuck you for that. But this Moriyama bullshit? Tell me what to expect. I’m not running.”

That surprises Andrew. Neil struck him as a runner – he’s rabbity and always checking exits and in the book he definitely characterised the secondary protagonist as flighty.

Then again... he glanced around the living room - Neil was living here. Building a life. He has something to hold onto now.

Andrew needed to ground himself. Needed to sort out his head. Needed to separate his anger and himself and this thrice damned contract with Evermore from the situation. He could fix this. Had to. Or Neil would be roped into the nightmare too.

King rubbed her face against his injured hand. The pain was dull and throbbing.

He pushed his fingers into her fur, found the spot between her shoulders that she so loved being rubbed.

“Cats help don’t they?” Neil says and it’s such a tangent Andrew’s eyebrow rises.

Neil smiles - it’s almost a laugh.

“Yeah they do,” Andrew admits. “Not sure about eleven but this one does alright.”

Neil does laugh now. And it’s an easy, familiar sound that Andrew wants to capture and bottle. He knows they can work this out.

Probably.

Kevin doesn’t seem to be following what’s going on. He’s still looking drawn and harried. But then again, he often looks drawn and harried. He’s staring at his kitten though and second by second the creases in his brows are loosening, smoothing out.

*

Neil stares at the two men in his living room for a second. He thought he knew Andrew - or was getting there. He met Kevin briefly as a kid but barely recognised him earlier. There’s an irony in the fact that he somehow managed to pick the street where this could happen.

But really all this does is put an extra sting into what Andrew did – he stupidly, selfishly, theorised about Neil; was curious and did something that could jeopardise Neil’s life - _again_ \- just when he was healing and settling.

But Neil thinks of Renee’s swimming classes and Aaron’s scowling acceptance. He thinks of his physio, Abby - who he actually liked - and the kittens with their cat trees and the furniture Matt and Dan gave him. He won’t give this up.

_Riko Moriyama will pry it from his cold dead hands._

**Part III**

Neil knows now that Andrew has written a book and that it used enough of who Neil is now to reveal who he was then.

He’s reading it now - almost laughing because of how ridiculously close to the truth it is.

Almost screaming for the same reason.

Andrew is a phenomenal writer - there are moments as he reads where Neil almost wonders if that _was_ how he felt at the time. His memories from those years are flashbulbs of endless roads and backwater towns, his mother’s fists and Lola’s taunts - all backlit by fear and pain. And whilst this character isn’t him, it’s close enough for discomfort.

Neil rubs his temple and finds his elbow knocked by Sir’s demanding nose.

“Alright, alright, is it tea time. Is that why you’re being such a pest?”

She chirrups and nudges his wrist with her head.

As soon as he enters the kitchen, he’s surrounded by fur balls - tabby and blond and grey and black - little fuzzes with increasingly steady paws and increasingly loud mews. Going through the motions of feeding time - Neil mulls on the book, on Andrew, on what they’re planning.

Andrew knows what to expect from Riko - he’s spent years trying to extricate Kevin from his clutches. There’s something about Kevin and Andrew that bothers Neil, though he can’t place the thought exactly. Something in their familiarity. The tension between them.

It’s swimming that afternoon so once the cats are fed, Neil packs himself off to the pool. He’s glad for the moments underwater - the respite from the noise in his head as he goes back and forth and back and forth, the monotony that leaves him feeling strong and bright and free.

Renee at the end says again that she’d love to see him come to the team practices. And again, Neil says maybe. He isn’t sure about competing right now - not with everything else. His physio agrees that the swimming is helping though, so maybe soon. Maybe once this is over.

On the drive home, Neil turns over the three things that Andrew told him to expect:

_1) a friendly approach - in which Riko tried to offer a contract._

Andrew said, “He’ll want you as part of the PR or something for the book. And he’ll lock you in for years.”

 _2) blackmail -_ “Anything he has on you, he’ll use to try to force your hand. Your privacy, your safety - he’ll threaten until you’re too terrified not to agree.”

Neil scoffed at that. Riko the publisher had nothing on a real killer, even if his name was Moriyama.

 _3) scandal - “He will out you,” Andrew had said_.

And Neil had frowned, “I’m not gay.”

There was a flicker in Andrew’s eye and then, “No, he’ll tell people who Neil Josten was - he’ll let the media know, let the neighbourhood know. He’ll promise to make it all stop if you sign.”

Now Neil was no stranger to blackmail or scandal. His father’s trial had been a mission in endurance as he was called up again and again as a witness - and his face had leaked. His identity had been all over the papers _._

 _Baby Butcher. Butcher Boy. Nathaniel Wesninski_.

The name didn’t even feel like his - he hadn’t been Nathaniel since age seven. He’d been Chris and Stefan and Alex and Bram. Neil was his final name unless he ended up forced into witness protection because of Andrew’s psychotic publisher.

Good thing Neil had a plan this time then.

Pulling into the drive, Neil spots Andrew on his porch, smoking.

He’s leaning back in his seat, Sir curled in his lap.

Neil approaches, leans in to scratch Sir’s ears and feels his stomach twitch at proximity to Andrew, inhaling the camphor and cedar of his cologne.

“Did you just sniff me?”

“Nope,” Neil rushes, “swimming pool water up my nose.”

Andrew looks... amused? There’s something soft about his mouth, almost a smile.

Neil realises he’s been staring at Andrew a little too long.

“Coming inside?”

Stubbing his cigarette, Andrew nods.

*

There are kitten bundles on chairs and shelves, sprawled on the rugs, half hidden behind cushions.

“Did you find more?” Andrew asks. He’s not incredulous.

Okay yes he is.

“Just the one,” Neil nods at a scrawny looking tortoiseshell, older than some but still small.

“And you’ve called them?”

“Notorious C.A.T.”

“You’re worse than my cousin.”

“Ha! Aaron said the same. I look forward to meeting Nicky one day. Sounds like quite the character.”

“You’ll regret saying that.”

But Andrew feels warmth at the idea of Neil meeting Nicky.

Neil makes coffee and Andrew watches him - drinks in the svelte lines and the easy movements, the way Neil doesn’t even seem to realise he’s using his cane because it’s just an extension of himself these days.

“You said you had a plan over text,” he says once their sat.

Neil does have a plan.

It’s a terrible plan.

Andrew refines it. This can’t be left to hoping for the best - this has to be bulletproof. But he knows how to make this work.

Between them they might get away with this.

Still, guilt is an unfamiliar emotion to Andrew - he understands the principles but not how he can feel this way. Then again, he’s never been so catastrophically stupid before, so incomprehensibly blind.

“Ask me for something true,” he tells Neil when the coffee is drunk and the conversation lulls. “I didn’t mean to take your truths. I’ll give you what you want of mine.”

Neil shakes his head. “You wrote fiction. You came close but... no cigar, Andrew.”

“Then correct me,” Andrew says. “One truth for one correction.” Neil looks unsure. But Andrew needs this. Needs them to be equal here. Needs to not feel like he took without asking. That he’s not like _them_.

The trust between them is fragile now - it’s Andrew’s fault but he’s working on it.

Their game goes in fits and starts - sometimes with one pressing too close to a poorly healed wound for the other.

Things like: knives and basements and uncles that cared too late.

Things like: _please_ and Cass and the meds that nearly killed him at school.

But the kittens play between them, tangles of energy that turn into tiny cries and soft snores and round fluffy bellies rising and falling in their laps. One, the midnight Madame Mewcifer, has particular fondness for Andrew’s left shoulder. He’ll fall asleep, tiny nose to pulse point. It makes Neil’s eyes go soft when he looks at Andrew, almost enough to make Andrew storm away.

Neil - not gay - Josten is a pipedream.

Neil - doesn’t swing - Josten is a walking, talking heartbreak.

He and his twelve cats.

Andrew isn’t coping. Which is ridiculous when you consider that any minute, Riko Moriyama could up and smash all this quiet living into pieces.

_Perspective, he tells himself, get some fucking perspective._

And then he has a kitten climbing his leg again so he’s distracted back into the room with Neil’s heartstopping smile.

*

They get the invite a week later - asking Andrew and Neil to dinner at a fancy downtown restaurant that has Andrew grimacing.

Riko has arrived.

It’s fortunate then, that Neil is fully prepared. He sends a couple texts to kickstart the rest of the plan and hugs each of his kittens goodbye, kissing their little faces and promising that he will be back.

And dinner goes exactly as Andrew expected - a gentlemanly offer over dishes that are too small to be filling.

But Riko’s razorwire smile is almost blunt compared to Neil’s wicked grin.

And Neil has the upper hand.

He’s already sold all rights to his story to Foxhole Books. In fact - Andrew is going to have to do some heavy editing unless Riko backs off - because Allison Reynolds, reporter for the Tribune and now Neil’s ghost writer, can otherwise sue Evermore.

“You know her I think? Went to the same school as your brother.”

Neil has been nothing but polite and he hasn’t gloated once.

Riko is a shade of white that makes him think that the guy probably needs something for heartburn.

Andrew has been quiet all evening - more like the man he was when they first met. Reticent. Abrasive.

Neil notices the only time Andrew seems to care what’s happening is when Neil is slightly snarky.

But there is something odd about Andrew these days. A way of observing that’s changed. Neil hasnt known what it meant so he put it to the back of his mind.

Now it’s distracting.

The polite dinner is over.

Riko casually drops some threats about friends of Neil’s father and knowing more about the Moriyama empire than Neil.

“You ought to remember your place. You’re a Wesninski. You belong to my family.”

He pays for their dinner.

Neil rolls his eyes as they follow Riko out of the restaurant and see him vanish into a black car.

“He’s like a cartoon villain,” he says to Andrew. “Honestly, I watched a lot of comic book shows in hospital and _that_ was straight out of DC’s villainy for dummies.”

“Come on then,” Neil says and reaches for Andrew’s hand, “ice cream?”

Andrew’s fingers are strong around his own and Neil ends up using him a bit like a cane, given he’d left his in the car.

Andrew finds a dive not far from the high street, orders a monstrosity of a sundae.

“And a matcha ice cream for me.”

It’s good. Not as good as French or Italian gelato but not bad for this side of the Atlantic, Neil tells Andrew, but good.

“So next comes the threats and PR bullshit right?”

Andrew nods. He slides his hand across the table so his pinky is brushed against Neil’s.

Neil has a feeling that everything is going to be okay.

*

Andrew is fairly sure of it too when they meet with David Wymack’s team at Foxhole Books:

Allison Reynolds, whose debut had been ‘Stolen Girls: the real life story of Robin Cross’.

Seth Gordon, best known for his investigative exposé on drugs in sport.

David himself, founder and editor and author of twelve non fiction books, ranging from biographies to theories.

And, “Renee?” Neil’s shock is one thing, his blinding smile is another. “You’re a writer?”

“Researcher,” she shakes Neil’s hand. “Though I had no idea about you.”

“Well I was starting over,” Neil sounds rueful and Andrew hates it.

They talk for hours - all of them - and the outrage over Andrew’s contract is unreal.

He’s never really spoken to anyone about this. Kevin came to him and he solved the problem. He never expected support.

Renee is particularly upset because she knows him from their fight club - knows Kevin too and Riko from school.

“I had no idea.”

“Kevin’s only grown spine enough to let us talk about this because of Neil. It wasn’t my story to tell.”

“Yes it was,” she says. “It is.”

They keep everyone in the loop when the threats start arriving. When Neil’s car is smashed, his front door busted open in the middle of the night with a dead fox thrown inside. Andrew sets up a camera to watch the street, sleeps on Neil’s sofa with the cats more than once.

He loathes this – seeing the flashes of resignation in Neil’s eyes, the way he looks at Andrew sometimes with puzzlement, as if to ask why he’s trying to help when it’s his fault to start with, and most of all the determination that makes Andrew’s skin hot.

The kittens are growing all the time and when Neil needs to take them for their jabs, Andrew drives. He greets Aaron with the barest of raised chins and let’s Neil do the talking.

Seeing Neil and Aaron talk is strange - there’s totally different body language. Neil doesn’t lean into Aaron’s space. There are no casual brushes of skin or quirks of his pretty mouth - not even when the cat does something funny.

Andrew can’t bare the taste of hope - but it fills his mouth, bitter as pennies.

*

There are two prongs to guarantee the downfall of Riko Moriyama. And a third that Neil has added, just to make sure that Evermore Press has nothing over Andrew ever again.

The first Andrew knows about - it’s Allison and the Foxhole team.

The second involves the FBI and Andrew has been told part of but not all - because it depends on him having plausible deniability. And the third Neil will only let him know if he’s successful.

And it pans out like this:

Neil acts out when Riko tries to pressurise.

He and the Foxes announce his upcoming memoir, written with Allison Reynolds.

He goes on a podcast and talks about befriending Andrew Minyard, helping with his new book. True crime, it turns out, has a fairly solid community built around its various outlets - and Neil quickly has a group of concerned, supportive fans.

When Riko tries to escalate, releasing photos, Neil starts various social accounts for his kittens. He quickly learns internet cat speak and gives each of the furrballs a style of talking. He documents the arrival of cats thirteen through fifteen, from rescue to their first wash, giving them their ridiculous names, walking and playing and being tiny little bundles of cute. Andrew features heavily.

Riko's counter PR, which focuses on lines of evidence from the trial (which tried to pinion crimes on Neil beyond forgery and identity fraud), slips off Neil easy as a cat turning into a liquid.

Andrew's slightly in awe.

"Learnt a few things from the feds," Neil says. "Plus Allison's on my side."

"You bet I am gorgeous," she ruffles his hair and he leans into her touch. "I was born to build and break reputations. And yours will be my crowning glory. At least until the next book."

Neil laughs.

Andrew feels that twisty green monster in his stomach again - the one that feels an awful lot like jealousy.

But he's confused - Neil still doesn't instigate with Allison.

Like with Aaron, there's a decided step back from what Neil has with Allison to what he offers Andrew.

Later that night Andrew will ask King if he's imagining things.

"It's all in my head isn't it? a hallucination."

King wriggles off his lap, paces around the floor then jumps back up to sit on top of his book.

"Helpful, really." But Andrew doesn't move her once she's comfy.

The next part puts Andrew on edge - he knows Neil's been working with the FBI on this but can't tell him more than that. It's frustrating but necessary.

In his head, he imagines that Riko's offices have been bugged, that his phone has been tapped, his movements tracked.

In reality, Riko's office, car and home have been bugged. His phone has been tapped, as have his emails. And he has a 24/7 escort courtesy of the FBIs finest. The Moriyama Empire cracked because of the Butcher - but they still have branches Riko's brother has been using. There are trafficking rings and arms deals and drug trades all operating under the Moriyama flag - even in disguise. The dark web is their current battlefield of choice. The FBI would do anything to stop bring them down, once and for all.

And Riko makes it his business to know too much.

And he's careless when angry.

_And oh, how Neil make him angry._

Andrew is still surprised when Riko's arrested. When Kevin calls Andrew, hysterical and definitely drunk, Andrew barely knows what to say. He crosses the road and when Neil opens the door, he takes one stride inside before pulling his stupid, cat-collecting idiot close.

He's holding the back of Neil's neck, he can feel auburn curls dusting over his fingers.

He searches Neil's face. 

He's distracted by Neil's eyes.

Neil's scent is mint and soap and a little bit of kitten.

Neil’s lips part as if to ask a question or to say Andrew’s name or maybe just in surprise.

Andrew shifts closer. Can feel the rhythm of Neil’s pulse pick up below his hands.

And then Neil closes the gap - slowly, so so slowly - and his mouth catches the corner of Andrew’s.

It’s not a kiss. Not at first.

Not until Andrew tilts his head and he feels Neil’s lips part with his own.

Realisation hits and Andrew pulls away. This is a break down. He shouldn’t be doing this to Neil. Neil who isn’t interested in men, in anything like a kiss really.

But there’s a noise like loss when he let’s Neil go and Andrew takes a second to realise it’s not a cat. He’s breathing too heavily for such a small moment. He feels electric and ecstatic and frozen and disgusted at himself.

And then Neil moves back into Andrew’s space, thumbs stroking Andrew’s chin, and kisses him again.

*

Part three of the plan - the part Andrew knows nothing about - comes to a head about a week later. Neil and Andrew are curled on the couch with a warm collection of kittens and cats around them, King included.

It starts with a phone call. Andrew’s eyelids crack open just a little at the noise. Neil is finishing Andrew’s book and he places it down with the spine broken on his knee. Andrew does not wince at the abuse of books but privately notes: psychopath.

When Neil picks up though his accent shifts from neutral American to British.

“Hello. Yes. This is he. It’s done? Okay so tomorrow? Right, right. Cheers mate. Yeah alright, next time I’m back I’ll buy you a pint.”

Neil hangs up and his smile is cattish, satisfied.

His hand reaches for Andrew’s and he draws a line over his knuckles.

“Tomorrow, Evermore Press is going into administration. Their entire assets will go to Foxhole Books.”

Neil says the words so casually and still in that English accent, Andrew doesn’t react at first.

It’s like hearing a different language when you’re half asleep and can’t tell if its dream talk or real life.

“What?”

“Evermore’s dead. Long live Foxhole Books.”

Andrew’s awake now. Awake and confused. “How?”

“Kayleigh Day.”

Kayleigh was co founder with Tetsuji. She was the reason Riko was able to get Kevin to give over so much financial control so easily. Kevin hadn’t even realised what Riko was doing - taking control, taking advantage, making him dependent - until it was too late.

“Without Riko, the accounts suddenly took something of a dive, drawing attention of some very powerful people who’d quite like their pound of flesh from the business. What’s left is going to Wymack. Kevin signed off on it earlier today. You’re free. Both of you.”

Andrew’s brain worked over time to process - left him spinning. Neil called in the Hatfords - that’s what he realises - called them in and let them strip the business for their own ends and then left the carcass to rot.

“The authors?” _Me?_

“Wymack’s agreed to all contracts and royalties. Or you can buy back your books for a nominal fee. It’s up to you what you do.”

Andrew is stunned and furious - how could it be so easy? How can they be sitting here, cosy and surrounded by warm bodies, and free?

Neil is smiling still - it’s a beautiful, soft thing on a mouth known for being so sharp.

Andrew closes his eyes. “It’s up to me.”

There were no more punches to take. He turns his palm over for Neil - and finds a cat immediately butting into it instead.

If Andrew’s lips curl upwards, Neil isn’t telling.

**Something like an epilogue**

Riko’s trial saw him accused of fraud, racketeering, blackmail, bribery and many more crimes that Neil nor Andrew bothered to remember. Kevin gave a statement and Wymack sat beside his son as the verdict came in: 65years before parole. It wasn’t enough. But it was too.

Andrew published his book with Foxhole Books - it was their first best seller for fiction.

Allison’s memoir with Neil was number 5 for non fiction in the NYT. Points were deducted for the second half mostly being about cats.

Neil still can’t run yet, but he won his first race for Renee’s swimming team - Dan and Matt came to watch. Andrew came too but nearly left as soon as he saw Neil’s body suit. He kept his eyes closed until a warm wet body scrambled up to surprise him after victory.

A few weeks later, Neil actually allowed a few of his kittens to be rehomed within the neighbourhood. But he still has around nineteen, twenty if you include King, who is there half the time.

Andrew - working on his fifth book - has been looking at bigger, quieter places for them all to move in the new year. He’s found a great big place where they could make a fantastic cat gym. And there’s a pool. And an attic that would be great for writing in.

He’ll ask Neil to move in soon.

Neil will say yes.

The two of them and their innumerable cats will live happily day by day for a very long time.

**The end.**


	43. Unsolicited duck pics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it's #FirstDayQuack (ie. the first day back at work as described by the Museum of English Rural Life) - here is a story about why ducks make Andrew Minyard flustered.

AU in which Neil’s number gets shared by a disgruntled Raven fan on a hookup app.

For weeks, he keeps being asked to send dick pics to random men. 

He deletes them all - until one mistypes and asks for a “duck pic”.

Neil responds with a duck emoji: 🦆

The stranger isn’t amused but Neil finds himself hilarious.

And of course, Neil is a troll by nature so obviously he starts sending ducks to Andrew.

Andrew frowns and replies: wtf.

Neil types: unsolicited duck pics or it didnt hapn

> _Andrew_ : that’s not how this works
> 
> _Neil_ : 🦆🦆🦆
> 
> _Andrew_ : 🦆🔪🍽️
> 
> _Neil_ : u wanna eat my duck
> 
> _Andrew_ : …
> 
> _Andrew_ : always
> 
> _Neil_ : c u next wknd?
> 
> _Andrew_ : 🦆🦆🦆

And that is the story of how Andrew and Neil started sending each other ducks in order to get the other hot and bothered.

**The end.**


	44. The River Jumper AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Andrew sees him for the first time on a bridge, climbing over a railing and leaning out over the rushing river below. The man is rakish thin - the kind where there’s more bone than body - and in a tatty brown coat the same colour as his poorly dyed hair."
> 
> In which Andrew thinks he's saving Neil's life, but Neil isn't the one who needs saving.

Andrew sees him for the first time on a bridge, climbing over a railing and leaning out over the rushing river below.

The man is rakish thin - the kind where there’s more bone than body - and in a tatty brown coat the same colour as his poorly dyed hair.

Andrew is driving but he pulls over as soon as he can, striding back the way he came. He wonders if the man might already have let go - but he’s there, holding onto the railing with one hand and staring downwards with the other.

“Don’t jump,” Andrew says. He approaches cautiously.

The man doesn’t startle - his knuckles clench hard around the edge for a second but he otherwise doesn’t react.

“Come on, I’m not gonna say life’s worth it but climb back over this side.”

“No,” says the man. “Listen. There's something down there.”

Andrew assumes he must be dealing with a crazy person - he can hear nothing but the roar of river and road around them.

He steps closer to the stranger and this time there’s a tremor of a response. “Life is shit, but that river isn’t the answer. Climb back this side.”

The man turns his head towards Andrew - his face is gaunt, sharp and angry.

His mouth is a grim line, his eyes deadly sharp. “I’m not jumping you cretin. There’s an animal down here. I think it’s stuck. Use your ears and listen.”

Andrew does listen. He really can’t hear anything - but he can see the determination in this idiots face and knows that the likelihood is he’ll fall if he tries to do this alone.

Half his brain says: _well one less fool on the planet can only be a good thing._

The half other: _but those cheek bones_.

So he finds himself telling the guy to wait and he goes back to his car for his phone. Of all people to call, he dials Seth Gordon.

“You go climbing,” he says. “Come here and bring rope or whatever.”

Seth swears and splutters. "The _fuck_ Minyard, I'm busy with-"

“Just do it. There’s a jumper.”

And to his credit, Seth must speed the whole way from Palmetto because he’s there in twenty minutes.

Unfortunately Allison is in tow. She’s always hated Andrew and the monsters, and she’ll only be here for her own entertainment.

“It’s a fox!” The stranger obviously hasn’t waited - he’s clambered down the edges of the bridge and is now teetering dangerously on a pier beam. His balance is impeccable, though his coat looks like it might catch any second.

“Yo dude, the fuck are you doing?” Seth is scowling down but there’s awe in the corner of his eye too. Then to Andrew: “I thought you said a jumper?”

“I thought he was, and now he’s rescuing a fox.”

Allison has the gall to laugh.

 _But what would she know about wanting to die_? _What would she know about a will to live_?

And yet for the first time in their acquaintance, Andrew can see true concern for someone else. It’s in the way she coils the ropes and pulls together the harness for Seth - it’s in the way her eyes keeping flicking to the bridge.

So Seth is rigged up and Andrew uses his car for leverage to hitch the ropes. Allison shows him what to do and she spots for him as he takes Seth’s weight on the way down.

“You’re insane-“ they hear Seth saying to the stranger.

“Oh fine come on pass it to me.” There’s a tug and Seth is pulled back up with a bundle of coat that is very definitely crying. There’s a small orange snout and black whiskers and it’s tiny, wriggling, noisy as hell. How Andrew couldn’t hear _that_.

And then Seth is dropping back down trying to help the stranger back up - there’s a moment, two, where Andrew is sure something is going to go wrong. It doesn’t.

Two faces show over the top of the bridge and two bodies clamber back over the railing.

Andrew’s relief hurts.

He’s amazed at how much he feels. The depth of it. Maybe it was the second hand fear of the fall. Maybe it was those angry eyes and stubborn mouth. 

And as Seth showers the stranger in a mix of compliments and exclamations, Andrew holds the rope in his hands, staring at them and the bridge and the bundle of fox.

The stranger looks up and stares back - he separates from Seth with a small smile and then steps forward to Andrew.

“Thank you, that was... thank you,” he says. “I’m Neil.”

When Andrew doesn’t reply, Allison says, “And he’s Andrew, local monster.”

Neil’s smile shifts and sharpens, his teeth seeming more like fangs as he turns to Allison. Her grin matches his ferocity. Like two cats readying for a fight. But Neil turns back to Andrew. Andrew quirks his eyebrow. And then the fox whines and the moment is over.

“Better get that thing to a vet,” Seth says, eyeballing the coat.

Neil picks it up, the little animal has barely moved, it is scrawny as he is and equally scraggly looking.

“Need a lift?” Andrew asks.

“That would be amazing,” Neil replies.

And if that ride turns into a place to stay and turns into a week into a month into ‘stay’.

And if the brown hair grows out into auburn like burnt leaves and if Andrew’s smile begins to show at the corner of his eyes.

Well, who can blame them.

_Monsters of a feather etcetera._

**-The End-**


	45. Neil is a lying liar who lies AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a new boy in Andrew’s class and there’s something not quite right about him. He’s mouthy and sharp, the kinda kid that should end up in detention three times a week but never does.
> 
> They are seven years old, though the new kid looks five, with eyes like a wide open sky. 
> 
> He is very pretty - that’s why Andrew notices him first - he looks like a fairy prince. 
> 
> And it’s because Andrew is watching that he notices though: the kid is a big bad lying liar who lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt came from the wonderful @djhedy - so thank you so much for the inspo to write this :D

There’s a new boy in Andrew’s class and there’s something not quite right about him. He’s mouthy and sharp, the kinda kid that should end up in detention three times a week but never does.

They are seven years old, though the new kid looks five, with eyes like a wide open sky. 

He is very pretty - that’s why Andrew notices him first - he looks like a fairy prince. 

And it’s because Andrew is watching that he notices though: the kid is a big bad lying liar who lies. 

The day he joined, the kid said his name was ‘Stefan’ to Mrs Stewart and ‘Chris’ to Mr Brasenose. The next day he was just ‘Neil’ and was given a fond, exasperated warning to keep his make believe in the playground. 

But the kid didn’t stop lying.

Some lies were big and others were small. 

On a Tuesday, Neil announced that he’d had a huge feast for breakfast - listing all the foods and making everyone’s mouth water with the descriptions. (But Andrew saw how he winced and held his stomach like it was empty.)

On a Thursday, Neil said he grew up in England and proceeded to spend the next week speaking in a posh English accent. (But he later admits at lunch it was just a couple months).

On a Friday, Neil whispers that his house is haunted and he’s scared to go home for the weekend. (There’s a little too much truth shining through those eyes as he talks about the ghost in his house. Andrew doesn’t doubt that he’s scared of something).

The following Monday, Neil explains his bruises by saying he spent the week learning to skate. 

“My cousin visited and let me use her skateboard. It was pretty rad.” 

(Andrew eyes the split lip, it could be true. But then he sees the hand shape around Neil’s thin wrist and knows the truth: it’s a lie.)

Through it all, Andrew is very quiet and very alone. He knows how this goes - he’s seven years old with more cracks in his heart than a fifty-year romantic - but he kinda enjoys Neil’s lies and how he gets away with them.

He particularly likes the outrageous ones: 

_My father parachuted into Paris because he’s a spy. He died landing on the Eiffel Tower._

_I once wrestled a monster. I won but it stole all my mom’s apples._

_I’m telling the truth._

_My tongue goes green when I lie._

_I met Kevin Day_.

Andrew won’t pretend he’s not intrigued. He thinks Neil is interesting and his lies are ones he can often hold in the dark, replaying Neil's mouth and the curve of his untruths, imagining they're real, over and over. Andrew cherishes them like bedtime stories when he’s hurt and wishing to be anyone, anywhere but stuck in his own life.

Plus Neil is funny - he always snarks at the teachers and gets away with the most ridiculous things. Other kids always want to play with him because his games are brilliant - epic journeys, castles and wizards, magical tigers, patchwork villains made from the skin of children. 

Some of Neil’s tall tales are part fairytales, part nightmares. And Andrew isn’t sure which part Neil actually belongs to. There are times where he’s the brightest, prettiest boy on the playground. And times where his eyes are haunted, mouth wicked cruel. And then there are times like today, where Neil is quiet and blank - a little too familiar to what Andrew sees in the mirror these days, looking like someone has scooped out his insides and left nothing but darkness behind in its wake. 

Andrew almost talks to him then. 

Almost.

But he doesn’t. Not for another few weeks. Not until Neil’s facing down Greg Doyle - the fight has the vibe of a hissing kitten against a rottweiler. 

There’s no way Neil can win. Greg is a third-grader and big besides. 

But Neil doesn’t look scared. He looks ferocious.

Not that appearances are going to help. Neil could have the sharpest claws of them all and he’d still weigh nothing against Greg. Neil dodges and ducks the first few blows. He snipes and snarks, that liar’s mouth rattling off stories of how he took down a SWAT team once.

But dumb luck can’t do everything and finally Greg gets a thump in, straight across Neil’s jaw - hard enough to make him stagger. 

“So much for a SWAT team, fucking liar." 

There are gasps at the bad word from the growing first- and second-grade audience. 

"Tongue turns green,” Neil says. He spits out blood.

Andrew’s had enough when he sees the blood. 

Neil might be an idiot but Andrew knows that there’s no way to win this one on alone He steps forward and puts himself between Neil and Greg. 

“Oooo who’s this, your boyfriend?" 

Andrew would roll his eyes, but can’t be bothered. He is the tallest kid in their year at nearly 4'5. He can look the nine-year-old Greg in the eye without trouble and he can see the bigger kid calculating his chances of taking Andrew on instead of the skinny little creature that was Neil "motor mouth” Josten.

“Back off,” he says. He doesn’t inflect. He watched a cartoon where a character spoke completely flat and it was really scary so he figures this might make Greg cower too. “Leave him alone.”

Greg nearly steps into Andrew’s space but someone has started a whisper: 

_Andrew Doe is the kid who killed his parents. Andrew Doe is the kid that burned a house down. Andrew Doe is the kid who took on Bertie Becker from fifth grade and flushed his head down the loo_.

It’s the last one that gives away the source of these rumours - Neil has started a chain of Chinese whispers. And Greg hears them swirling from mouth to mouth, ear to ear, each more terrifying than the last. It makes Andrew want to grin, so he does. Greg actually whimpers.

The crowd laughs when Greg runs away - he can’t save face when he’s fleeing from a first-grader. 

Andrew feels triumphant. 

Especially when Neil steps up beside him, shy smile and summer sky eyes. “Thanks Andrew.” 

_Neil Josten knows his name_ , Andrew thinks. _Wow wow wow._

Neil’s mouth is swollen but he’s still the prettiest boy in the playground so Andrew doesn’t say anything. 

“Want to play a game?” Neil says. 

Andrew shrugs. 

“Well?” Neil says again. “I won’t force you but I’d like to play with you too, if you’d like to play with me.”

Andrew thinks about it before saying _yes_. 

It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

*

They start with games - make-believe quests and imaginary journeys. They visit magical worlds in their heads and fall about laughing when one of them (mostly Andrew) doesn’t break character even for class.

They become inseparable - two boys with home lives full of ghosts but dreams that can take them anywhere. The lying liar is the better storyteller but the stoic hero a better actor. And sometimes in games they hide their truths - violent families and horrifying pasts.

Neil shows Andrew his scars, “I sometimes say they’re from a shark or ninjas and stuff but…” 

“That’s from an iron.” 

“Yeah.”

In turn, Andrew tells Neil about his foster family. 

“We could poison him,” Neil says. “I heard we can make poison from apple cores. Applesenic or something.”

 _If only it were that simpl_ e.

It happens just before the end of the year - summer is nearly there and Andrew can only imagine how fun it’ll be having a friend to adventure with for the first time. And then he finds out that his foster family is getting rid of him. He’ll be packed off at the end of term.

“I think mom and I will move too,” Neil admits. “We never hang around anywhere long." 

"Because of your dad?" 

"Yeah…” Neil plays with the hem of his t-shirt. “He’s in prison but mom is still terrified. She moves us a lot." 

"Maybe you can move to the same place as me.”

They pretend that the world isn’t going to split them apart. 

They pretend that they’re going to have the summer together. 

And the year after. 

That they’ll start middle school together. 

And be best friends all the way to the end of high school.

And go to the same college.

“We could play exy together all the way through,” Neil says. It’s his new obsession. 

“I’m not going to play stickball. I prefer playing games with you." 

"We can play games on the court. You can be the fierce dragon and I’ll be the knight that looks after you.”

“You’d steal all my dragon gold." 

"Would not." 

Andrew raises one eyebrow. 

"Okay, yes I would. I’d be the knight trying to take your gold. But I’d be sneaky about it.” Neil’s laughter is high and bright. "Does that mean you’ll play with me?“ 

"Yeah okay,” Andrew says.

But it doesn’t work out that way. 

Neil vanishes like sun behind a mountain the day after term ends. 

Andrew’s bags are packed. He’s dumped in a new home near the beach. He hates the beach. He misses Neil the way his lungs miss oxygen when he’s stuck in the swell of a wave. His foster father has an obsession with trying to get him to surf and it sucks. He decides to refuse to go any more.

He does go to play exy though. 

He does it because he figures one day he’ll find Neil on a court too. 

He’ll either face him down or by some miracle they’ll be on the same team. 

He’ll find Neil again. He will. 

He tells himself this every day. 

Even when it feels like a lie.

*

Years pass before Andrew hears anything about the little boy who - for two semesters when he was seven - was his best friend. So many years that if it weren’t for one polaroid from a cheeky arcade photo-booth, he might have let the idea of Neil go.

But he keeps the photo with him - through home after home, through Cass and Drake and juvie and Aaron and Nicky. He hides it in books, folds it into pockets. Makes sure to hold onto Neil and the memories of those few happy months.

He plays exy. Keeps track of other teams and their players. The sport does nothing for him - but sometimes he closes his eyes and imagines Neil with his flashing blue eyes mischievous smile and that long ago conversation. He remembers why he’s doing this.

At 13, he asks Pig Higgins to do a search on Neil’s name but the policeman refuses. 

At 14, he goes through the entire directory for California and when that’s exhausted, he starts searching every state from West to East. 

He calls 362 Jostens across the USA. None are Neil.

When he turns 16, he uses a fake and has two small dragons outlined on the top of his left shoulder. 

When he’s 17 he meets Riko and Kevin Day. He remembers Neil once saying he’d met Kevin and wonders if that was true or just one of Neil’s many many lies. He turns the Ravens down.

He signs two weeks later with the Palmetto State Foxes - taking his brother and cousin with him. 

He watches as the lists of drafted players on other teams go up. There’s no Chris or Stefan or Abram - not with the matching face Andrew wants. _There’s no sign of a Neil Josten_.

Andrew smooths out the photo at night, slipping it between the pages of Whitman’s _Leaves of Grass_ every morning. 

Maybe it’s time to put the memory of Neil to rest, but he can’t. 

Neil is one of those beautiful ghosts that he can’t help but hold onto. The one unspoilt thing in his memory.

Unspoilt, that is, until a Monday when Kevin Day announces he’s recruiting a nobody from a nothing town in the middle of nowhere Arizona and the nobody’s name is _Neil_.

“Neil what?" 

"Josten. Want to see his tape?" 

"Nope,” Andrew says. But his heart is a thunderdrum, hope cutting through the medicated hyper mania easy as a knife through butter. “Actually yes, gimme the tapes little birdie." 

Kevin grimaces at his nickname but says nothing until they’re watching the tape. And then he can’t shut up about the player’s potential, his speed and natural flare on the Court. 

It’s not Andrew’s Neil. 

And yet it is. 

The striker on the court is a brunette with dark eyes but he runs like Neil. He’s ferocious and plays like it’s the last thing keeping him afloat. He has that little flick of his racquet before he goes to score, a telltale that would never get passed Andrew but no one else seemed to have noticed. 

Andrew says as much to Kevin. 

"Exactly,” Kevin says. “That’s why we have to have him.”

So they go to Millport. 

And Andrew knows Neil well enough to anticipate that he’ll run. 

Knows him well enough to trip him with a racquet and catch him as he falls. 

Neil hasn’t grown much either - he’s still small and sharp and far too pretty to be real.

“Stupid little liar, you should watch where you put your feet.” Andrew wishes he were sober. Wishes he didn’t have to greet Neil with this grin splitting his face. 

_Wishes wishes wishes_. 

But his one wish has already come true, Neil is here with him. Warm and lithe and alive.

“Drew?” Neil says, but the word is choked and breathless. Neil’s voice does something to Andrew’s insides and Andrew feels the muscles beneath his hands warring between flight and relief. 

“Neil,” he replies. 

“Oh my god, Drew." 

And then Neil’s arms are around Andrew’s shoulders, and his face is turning into his neck and Andrew realises they’re hugging and he shouldn’t want to hug back _but he does_. He does because it’s Neil. _His friend. His pipe dream_. The little boy with the pathological need to lie and an imagination that could create whole worlds from a handful of dust. 

He hugs Neil tight. 

Never wants to let go.

Kevin of course ruins the moment. 

But Neil isn’t going to say no to the Foxes. Not now. 

And even though Andrew can recognise the lies slipping passed Neil’s lips, he doesn’t tell Wymack. Doesn’t call out his idiot’s new ouchies. Doesn’t answer any questions when Kevin demands answers.

"Sign,” he speaks only to Neil. He means, _Stay with me_. “We can play a game. Yes or no?" 

"Yes,” Neil says and his smile is a little wild, a lot wonderful. “Let’s play a game.”

**The End**


	46. i like your face AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a hapless barman accidentally laces the Neil's drink with a new drug, Andrew has to deal with a rather soft and silly version of his usually sharp-tongued idiot - who apparently really really likes his face. Fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: non consensual drug taking

“I’ll get the drinks,” Neil says as soon as they walk into Eden’s.

Andrew raises an eyebrow.

“No one needs to get stabbed tonight,” Neil says. “It’s Hapless Sam on the bar.”

“Spoilsport,” Andrew mutters, but doesn’t move with Neil when he heads to the bar.

Hapless Sam, is the new barman helping Roland, stepping in for a few months whilst Ebony, the usual yin to Roland’s yang, is off to have surgery.

Hapless Sam is also the bane of Andrew’s life. He never gets a drinks order right. He constantly peppers them with bad one liners. He also once tried to pick up both Neil and Nicky and Aaron in one night - only stopping when Aaron suddenly duplicated and Andrew stuck a blade under his chin. After that, Roland stepped in.

But the bar was overrun tonight and if Andrew had to so much as look at Hapless Sam - well, someone is going to prison and someone is leaving in a body bag. And you don't need to be a genius to figure out which.

So Neil goes to the bar and Andrew keeps an eye on him - on the red of his hair, the sway of his hips, a new quirk that he had to know drove Andrew crazy. It should be illegal for someone like Neil to have any kind of rhythm - but Neil wasn’t a bad dancer. He was sinuous and unreal, if a little self conscious, and Andrew really really needed a drink before that happened again.

 _Because it will,_ promised the voice in his head. _Nicky will never rest until Neil dances again._ Even if it killed Andrew. He suspected it was partly because Nicky wanted him to dance too. 

Neil came back an achingly long time later. There was something odd about the way he looked at Andrew, half a question hovering right beneath his skin.

He set down the tray and Nicky chitters, Aaron glowers, Kevin reaches forward expectantly.

But there’s a yell from the bar and Andrew looks up to see Roland’s furious face, Hapless Sam’s horror. 

He catches Roland’s eye and the frantic look there - the way he's turned to stare at Andrew tells him everything.

“Don’t fucking drink anything,” he says to his table.

Aaron puts his glass down. Kevin looks torn but relents under Andrew's stare. Nicky frowns and leans back.

Neil however sways on the spot. His eyes are blown wide, two black pools ringed with the finest circle of ice blue. Andrew reaches for him and Neil reaches back. He looks sad and confused.

"N'drew..." he slurs, "Did I do su'thin bad?" There's a tinge of British in there, a twirl of French.

Andrew tugs Neil down beside him, stomach hollowing because he doesn't know what Neil's taken but it's clear he's taken something. Rage pools in the empty cavern of his chest. He goes to push Neil at Nicky - Roland clearly knows something and he wants answers - but Neil makes a noise in his throat and catches hold of Andrew's sleeve. Even high he's not crossing lines. Andrew aches with that knowledge.

"What did I do?" Neil asks again. "I don' have none secrets."

It takes a moment for Andrew to realise Neil thinks this was _his fault._ That in some part of this idiot's head, he believes Andrew would drug him again. 

"It wasn't me," Andrew says, voice low. "You're okay Neil."

"Stay with Nicky, I'll talk to Roland." And probably gut Hapless Sam, whose fault it inevitably is.

Neil makes that whining noise again and Andrew wishes they didn't have an audience. "Don't wanna kiss Nicky."

"Who said anything about kissing?"

"Not Nicky. Only you."

Nicky's guilty look sets Andrew's teeth on edge.

Andrew needs to talk to Roland but can't leave Neil with the Monsters. Fortunately, Roland comes to them bearing a new tray of drinks and a harried expression.

"Fucking hell guys, I'm sorry. None of you drank those, right?"

"Don't worry Sammy's been banished to the kitchen, he's not doing anything like this again and--"

Andrew is up and in his face within seconds - pinioning Roland against the wall, arm across his throat, knife pricking his side.

"What has he taken?"

Roland notices Neil, gulps.

"It's a new syrup - they call it Goblin Juice and it looks just like lime cordial - Sam thought it was lime for the soda. Fuck Andrew do you need the knife? Ow fuck fuck fuck okay stop, it's made using shrooms. Non addictive. Just meant to make you happy - kinda soft."

But of course Neil was the one who drank it. If it had been any of the others, perhaps no one would have even noticed - maybe even celebrated the free high.

But Neil...

Kevin and Aaron are helping themselves to the new drinks when he lets Roland go. Nicky looks pale and nervous and is holding a shot but not drinking. Neil has flopped back on their sofa and is staring at Andrew, a wide smile on his face that Andrew immediately hates.

"I really like your face," Neil says when his brain catches up and realises Andrew is paying attention again. "You have a good face."

Andrew shoots daggers with his eyes at Roland and the barman flees, promising free drinks for the night and the next, _forever, whenever_.

Neil smiles and reaches for Andrew again as he comes back.

Andrew is not drunk enough for this shit, especially when Nicky coos. "Oh he's so cute. He should have gotten high sooner."

Andrew wants to warn his cousin to back off but Neil has wriggled around and nuzzled his face against Andrew's shoulder. It's heedlessly distracting. It's dangerously adorable.

"Do yous like my face Nyandrew?" Neil says. "I really really like yours. Look at your face. Hey is my head still attached?"

Andrew sees the way Neil is teetering, wraps his hand across the back of Neil's neck and tugs him close. It's not a hug. It's for the idiot's own safety that's all. However, apparently for sky-high-Neil, silence and gestures isn't an answer.

"You don't like my face?"

The slight tremble in Neil's voice is what makes Andrew swallow his frustration and reply. He can't stand that tremble. "I like your fucking face." "I like yours too." And then Neil's finger boops Andrew's cheek.

"Nose," he says. "Good nose."

_For. Fucks. Sake_.

But it's kind of hilarious (and ruinously cute) as Neil - _gentle as a moth wing_ \- strokes over Andrew's cheek and along his temple, finds the bridge of his nose and the swell of his lips.

"Good face."

Andrew contains himself by a miracle. He's fairly sure Aaron is filming this.

"If that footage goes anywhere but the trash, I'll fucking stab you."

"If you were going to stab me, you would have done it a long time ago brother."

"No stabbing," Neil says. "Too many witnesses. Oh hey, look at the fireflies."

Neil lifts one hand to the empty ceiling. There are no fireflies. This is Eden's. Andrew wants to take Neil home but doesn't think putting him in a car is going to do much good right about now.

"You like my face," Neil sighs and sits back. "Even all of this."

"Yes," Andrew says. "Because of all of this."

It's not the scars, it's because Neil survived. That he should have broken and yet still held himself together by tooth and claw.

"I didn't drug you," Andrew says, close to the shell of Neil's ear. "I promise."

"Okay," Neil says. "Good. I don't wanna kiss Nicky."

And there it is again, the second time Neil has mentioned this. Andrew looks at his cousin, who has escaped with Kevin onto the dancefloor.

They'll have a little chat later, when Neil isn't on another planet.

"You're the best," Neil says. "I'll kiss you."

"Not tonight."

Because even if Neil is warm and flush against him. Even if Neil is soft and pliant and willing. This is a man who has been drugged and cannot give consent. Hell, he's watching fireflies that don't exist and stroking Andrew's chin, like he's forgotten Andrew has teeth. Neil is not okay.

Aaron leans back in his chair. "If it's molly, he could be flying for hours."

"It's some kind of shroom shit."

"So even longer then."

Andrew's fingers tighten on Neil's shoulder. "So we can't wait this out?" He should have asked Roland that.

"Probably not, no. Take him home. I'll bring the others."

And for once Andrew decides to trust his brother. He gathers Neil and his loose limbs and leaves Aaron to manage Kevin and Nicky. It’s a one of the hardest things he’s ever done but Bee’s buzzing voice tells him it's time to let Aaron prove himself, standalone.

Neil is awful as they leave - smiling at everyone and everything, even things that aren’t there. His eyes shine and every time he looks at Andrew, there’s a draw of breathe like he’s never seen him before.

“You are,” Neil says, “the best thing. The abs’lute best thing. Hold me up and keep me sage, no safe. Mean safe. You me safe.”

And Neil cannot sing but his voice is sing song and full of wonder.

Andrew is going to gut Hapless Sam like a fish from chin to pelvis.

They drive home - slowly because Neil keeps getting distracted by things Andrew is doing, like blinking ( _your eyelashes are so white, like snow flakes Andrew_ ) and breathing ( _but look how you move, so amazing_ ). But Neil is so soft and happy and obsessed, it’s hard to be angry.

Columbia is dark, their house musty with absence. They’ve not visited for a while and Andrew had been hoping for something slightly different tonight.

Neil apparently had too. “Yes? Andrew? Yes?” He says.

“No,” Andrew says. And he never thought he’d hate seeing Neil obey - not with this - but there’s hurt and confusion and concern and a thousand layers of emotion on Neil’s face when he hears it this time. All the feelings Neil must usually keep tucked away when it _isn’t always yes_ for Andrew.

Andrew relents, “Just this,” he says as he settles onto the sofa, guiding Neil down with him. Neil’s reaction is instant - dopey smile and arms that snake around Andrew in a loose but escapable hold.

“Warm,” he says. “Strong.”

The hours tick by in highs and lows - Neil is happy in phases, then almost crying in others. He tells Andrew things that cross his mind, about Andrew, about the Foxes and exy. He hides in Andrew’s hoody when he sees shadows crawling and is convinced they’re from his father.

Andrew does his best to soothe and protect - it’s all in Neil’s head and Andrew isn’t a soft man, but he keeps Neil close and lets him talk. A few years ago he couldn’t have done this. But a few years ago he and Neil were new and still cutting each other on their sharp edges.

Aaron herds an unhappy Nicky and an almost paralytic Kevin inside. Aaron seems sober but that could just be in comparison.

“Our cousin,” Aaron tells Andrew, “is a fool. But you care about him and shouldn’t kill him for doing what you asked.”

“What did he do?”

Aaron shrugs. “Just a kiss I believe. But might explain a bit more why your nut-job boyfriend knocked himself out that time.”

“That was cos imma liar,” Neil chimes with all the confidence of the truly seshed. “Liar liar liar.”

“Not anymore.”

“Yeah. Not with you.”

There's water and toast and Neil naps at one point but Andrew doesn't because he knows what's next - and he's right. Neil is sick for what feels like hours but isn't. Aaron brings more water. A small part of Andrew wonders if his twin actually likes seeing Neil so ridiculous.

Turns out he's right about that too.

Aaron tells him when Neil is hurling up his guts that seeing Neil like this, seeing Andrew with him like this, makes more sense than anything he's seen prior.

"You're everything to him." Aaron doesn't say that Neil is everything to Andrew but the implication is there.

And when Neil is finally in their bed, safe and asleep, Andrew calls Roland and leaves a warning. Hapless Sam had better be fired or there wouldn't be an Eden's Twilight.

He stays awake and stays awake. He falls asleep around 6am.

Neither of them stir until well into the afternoon and when Neil does, he buries his face in the pillows and groans.

"Oh my god. Andrew I'm so --"

"Shut up." Andrew doesn't want apologies for this. He sees the embarrassed pink of Neil's ears, the flush on his neck. "Stop."

Neil groans again and Andrew knows he must feel like shit right about now. That he's mortified. That he's worried. That Andrew has the power to make it right.

Something wicked flickers in his gut.

"Hey junkie," he says. "I like your face."

**-The End-**


	47. Pipe Dream -  A Skaterboi AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skate parks, the mafia, fake dating, sassy Neil and buff-armed Andrew. The Skater AU that no one asked for but happened anyway.

**PART ONE**

**I - NEIL**

Neil sees them coming but doesn’t stop them - not when they grab him, not when they shove him against the wall, not when the short blond skater presses a blade against his throat. He meets a glare so fierce, he actually thinks about taking this seriously. He’s been waiting for this attack - for whenever this group of skatepark misfits decided it was time to investigate the new kid - though he hadn’t expected this guy to be the one who instigated.

From his own intel, he’d assumed Andrew Minyard was more the quiet reactive kind. He likes being wrong though. And he likes seeing those amber eyes, which so often seem so dead, now glowing and depthless, furious and bright.

“You could have tried a friendly hello, but I’m sure this is an effective way to start a conversation too.”

Andrew’s eyebrow quirks. Neil grins.

“So,” he says. “What’s up?”

There’s a pause and someone - probably the twin - grumbles that Neil is an effing idiot.

But Neil isn’t stupid. He’s not even self destructive. He’s just had scarier men than this ragtag lot try to kill him. And honestly, he doesn’t mind - if this is what they need to feel ok with his presence, he won’t begrudge them.

He just hopes they won’t force him out. This is the first place he’s felt normal since coming to live with Stuart. Being this close to a skatepark, having the grind and whir of boards in his ears - it makes him feel more centred, more at home. He used to spend hours in skateparks as a kid, used to use them to hide from his mom and later to escape from his father once he killed her.

He didn’t skate anymore. Wasn’t sure he could.

But he could stay close. And he could still do the art.

Unless they moved him on.

He didn't think his dear uncle would take too kindly to knowing how he spent his evenings, where he disappeared to at night. And if they told Neil to move on, to take his paints and his attitude and go somewhere else? There was no way he'd be able to keep it under wraps. The Southbank skatepark was far enough away to be outside of Hatford eyes, busy enough to disappear and blend in, close enough that he could get home in half an hour if he sprinted.

He didn't want to leave.

He really hoped they wouldn't tell him he wasn't welcome here.

**II - ANDREW**

Andrew had planned this evening - from the moment Neil arrived with his backpack of canisters and hood over his face, Andrew's plan had been in action.

He'd been watching the stranger for weeks, heard him introduce himself to the other street artists, seen what he made. The kid was talented - and becoming popular. Matt and Dan quickly adopted him into their little huddle, offering him a blunt (declined) and booze (declined) and paints (accepted).

But Matt and Dan had terrible taste and Andrew didn't trust their judgement.

So he placed a knife beneath Neil's chin and tried not to breathe in the heady scent of acetone and sweat.

They needed to have a little chat, but Neil's lazy smile undid him a way that Andrew wasn't sure he could recover from.

God, the guy was unfairly pretty.

It's the eyes, his brain supplies, that and the way they clash with his stupid red hair that's clearly not a shitty bottle job.

He shoves those thoughts to the pit of his stomach and lets his lip curl the tiniest bit. "Oh little rabbit," he says. "Heard a nasty rumour about you."

"And on rumour's tongue continual slanders ride," Neil quips.

"Quoting Shakespeare. How quaint."

"Aw you noticed. So what do these deadly rumours say?"

"That you're on the wrong side of town," Andrew says, noting the way Neil's throat swallows against his knife. "Hatford."

There's that smile again but there are shadows there too, a shift in his gaze that's almost haunted. "Ah, you've heard of my illustrious cousins."

"Heard of and want nothing to do with."

"Which is why you're pointing a knife in my face."

"You catch on fast," Andrew says.

There's shuffling behind him, a sound of uncertainty from Nicky, a huff that could be amusement from Aaron.

Kevin is decidedly quiet. Andrew nearly calls him out - but then he thinks of the way Kevin's spine likes to bend and decides that it's better to handle this himself.

"This is neutral turf and right now I'm giving you a warning. Bring your shit near me and mine and you're done here."

"Ever think I'm here because it's neutral turf?"

"We don't care if you need a safe space, little rabbit. Your problems are your own. Keep them away from us."

Andrew pulls away, notes that at some point his knife nicked the freckled skin of Neil's throat and a bead of red blood has trickled down the line of his jugular.

"Get a plaster on that," he says. "Buh-bye now."

He and the monsters leave. But it doesn't feel like a victory.

**III - NEIL**

There’s a small part of Neil that tells him to run.

Okay, fine, a pretty significant part that tells him to pack up his shit and get the hell out of that park.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

He needs this.

Needs the proximity to a sport that once gave him a taste of freedom.

Needs the comfort of being able to create, to play with paints like he can on these walls.

Needs a place where he doesn't deal with gangs, and his role isn’t decided for him - tattooist, translator, torturer.

Because he’s all these things sometimes - a cog in the Hatford's machine - despite his protestations.

They believed in family and Neil was obligated to play his part in that family, even if it meant sacrificing the last scraps of his heart.

Plus, they saved him from the ruins of his father's empire, bought out his contract with the Moriyamas.

At first he thought it was good will. That they did it for Mary, their murdered daughter.

He soon learnt otherwise.

His body and talents simply belonged to the Hatford syndicate now.

And sure, Stuart kept saying he had it wrong. But it wasn't like Neil was ever given a choice not to jump when he was told to - it was _how high_ and _how far_. He wasn't allowed to say _no_ to them.

So he doesn't pack up. Doesn't run. He brushes himself down, wipes the blood from the nick in his neck, ambles across to his bag and his paints and the little group he's befriended.

"All alright man?" Matt asks. "What did Minyard want?"

"I'm fine," Neil says. "And nothing."

"Nothing." Matt doesn't sound convinced.

"Just a chat."

"Casual chat don't usually involve knives, Neil."

"They don't? Where are you from?" Neil tries to joke but, well, he's not really joking.

That night his walls come out dark and strange - hollow figures and snarling graphics.

Matt pats him on the shoulder and tells him they've got a joint if he wants to wind down. Weed is the only thing he uses now apparently, but Neil's seen the track marks and heard the stories.

He appreciates the offer but, "No thanks. Gotta be on my game."

"For what?" Matt asks. "It's nearly midnight."

Neil jolts. He didn't realise it was so late. "Then doubly so, I gotta go."

"Alright man, but the offer stands. You need to chill, you let me know."

"Will do." He won't. Neil doesn't dabble. Doesn't like the feeling of being drunk or high or out of control. His mom taught him the danger of that - more than once she'd slipped him something and beaten him for not being vigilant. He rubs his shoulder then sets off at a lick.

He has jobs for the early hours - three tattoos and several audio-files to translate. _Ukrainian. French. German_. It would take a while to work through it all.

Glancing back at the skatepark, he crosses the bridge. Even in the dark, he's sure he can see amber eyes staring back.

**IV - ANDREW**

There's no sign of Neil the next few days.

He doesn't lurk in the dark corners or add to the walls or slip like a shadow between the arms of the those who tried to approach him. He wasn't anywhere to be seen. And Andrew almost felt annoyed that he'd given up so easily.

Days pass, evenings breathe in and out like the tidal Thames.

The days are growing longer and the extra minutes of light draw more cameras, more tourists.

Kevin obsesses. This is their chance to show the world what the Monsters can do, he says.

But Andrew ignores him. As if anyone is going to pay attention to a bunch of misfits from the wrong side of town as they tick-tack and heel-flip around this shitty little hole in posh London.

He smokes. Watches. Occasionally picks up his board and lets himself fly.

He tastes the rush, the fear. It's not enough anymore.

_Was it ever?_

He's not sure.

He and Aaron started this together when they were reunited. Back then it was something to keep them out of the house, away from Tilda. Something worth staying sober for in Aaron's case and alive for in Andrew's. There was a fire in his gut back then. He had something to prove.

But he doesn't feel it anymore.

There's monotony that he can't abide. There's a sense that he's creating his own prison - that he's building up walls and narrowing his escape routes. He hates it. Hates himself. Hates feeling like he's digging grooves he'll never leave. That he's creating his own Sisyphean punishment.

At least Neil Hatford had been a distraction.

But maybe he was a coward just like Kevin.

Maybe he wasn't as interesting as he pretended to be.

*

Neil does return - nearly a week later.

He's wearing the rattiest jeans that Andrew's seen on him yet, ripped and splattered with paint.

His hoodie is back, swallowing his body, and the hood is up in a way that suggests he doesn't want to be recognised. He's also limping.

Andrew sneers and drops his board, zipping down the concrete walls and over to Neil in a flash.

He tugs the hood from Neil's face, and is about to snarl at him when he sees the yellowing bruises, the split lip and swollen jaw.

"Did the rabbit get caught in a trap?" he says.

Neil shakes him off and ducks his head away from where Matt and Dan are watching.

Allison is with them today, once again playing rough with her shellac manicure painted black.

"Fuck off, yeah," Neil says. "I'm doing nothing to you so just fuck off."

His hands are bandaged.

Andrew is intrigued all over again.

He grabs Neil's wrist and tugs his left hand close. "Someone have an accident? Get on the wrong side of the mob maybe?"

"Fell," Neil says. "I'm clumsy like that."

"I don't believe you."

"And I don't care. I'm here to paint. That's it." His words come out funny, misshapen by the way his jaw can't move properly.

Andrew is curious, curious, curious but he zips away to watch from afar.

Neil does get out his paints. He does start on something, though it's unsteady and rough where his arms don't lift easily. Whoever beat him did a nasty job of it.

He's only been there a half hour when he sinks to the floor, tips his head against the wall, exposing a long freckled throat. From below long lashes, his eyes watch the skaters, the ebb and flow of them from one side to the other.

Andrew decides to perform.

The sea of people part like the red sea for Moses, because when Andrew goes, he's unstoppable. He races and dives, kick flips and leaps, performs a chinese nollie, grinds and 360s.

Andrew feels Neil's attention.

Feels his heart pounding.

He takes a bow on the flat.

Starts again, making use of the half pipes and curves through the park to catch every lip and rail and opportunity to trick.

Even Kevin is grinning, watching with his arm slung around Aaron's shoulders. He's a goon whenever Andrew actually bothers.

Nicky woops and hollas as he skids to a halt in front of the Monsters.

There are open mouths and wide eyes in his wake but he only cares about a certain pair of blue ones.

But when he glances over, Neil is gone - bag, paints, ratty jeans and all. Andrew clenches his fists.

**V - NEIL**

Neil walks home because he physically can't run.

Even so, he takes a longer route than necessary along the river, drinking in the frigid January night, catching the scent of cigarettes on the air and trying not to think of Andrew Minyard when he does.

He sighs, winces. Because fuck, the guy might be an asshole but he can skate.

And Neil's _so goddamn jealous_.

He misses being on a board the way others miss breathing. He misses it all day, every day. Even more so when he sees someone like Andrew who doesn't even seem to value what they have.

He holds his ribs as he walks, keeping his arms tucked in, hands tight on the switchblade in his pocket.

He shouldn't have come out tonight. He's injured and tired and the ghosts that hide in the grey matter of his brain are loud tonight. They taste of metal and pain.

He arrives home. He ignores Stuart. He applies arnica and curls up in his bed.

This house is so big. His family so close. He feels trapped.

All he wants is the feel of wheels beneath his feet again, the rush of wind in his hair, the ache in his knees the next morning.

He can't have what he wants, he knows that.

That doesn't stop the memory of Andrew, mid-flight, from playing behind his closed eyelids.

He struggles to even his breathing. But his heart hasn't stopped pounding since Andrew caught air. It feels like his sternum might crack.

*

Neil decides to let his bruises fade.

In that time, he translates tape after tape. They're all the same: _drug runs, gun smugglers, competitors after Hatford turf._

They blur inside his head, turning his brain to swill.

He staggers to bed each night, utterly ruined.

It's Stuart who pulls him aside and tells him to take a night off.

"You used to disappear and do your own thing, go do that now," he says. "You're a right fucking mess, lad."

"I'm just doing my job," Neil replies. "You bought me to do this didn't you?"

For a second Stuart frowns, looking greyer and older than ever. "Yeah, we did at that. But you're family, Nathaniel, and you did us a good turn the other week deciphering that tape and rescuing Benny like that. You earnt more than respect there - you showed you're one of us."

"It's Neil," Neil says. He can hear how thin his voice is but doesn't have the energy to pretend to be better than he is. "Nathaniel is dead."

He died in a basement when his father tried to cut off his legs.

"Neil," Stuart says. "Take tomorrow off. A week. Whatever you need."

A reward for good behaviour, Neil supposes.

For working out that translation and saving his youngest cousin from kidnapping.

For taking a beating and killing three men twice his size - three bruisers, slow muscled and heavy fisted.

His ribs throb with the memory.

So Neil treks to bed.

Falls asleep with the imprint of Andrew Minyard playing in the foreground of his mind.

Wrenches awake mere hours later, reaching for his legs and swallowing down screams as he recalls a dark basement and the shink-and-snick of a sharpening cleaver. He doesn't sleep again that night.

**VI - ANDREW**

"Neil is back", Andrew says, nudging Aaron and nodding with his head. "Seems we didn't scare the bunny away after all."

"You going to show off again today then?" Aaron replies. "Don't think we didn't notice last time."

Andrew glowers at his twin and kicks back. "Nope."

He's going to sit and watch whatever Neil does this time.

He's going to keep track and...

He's quickly made curious.

Neil has spoken to Dan and Matt and they're helping him back out the entire section of wall that he's been working on through the winter.

Blank canvas.

"The fuck is he doing," he comments to Nicky.

"No idea, but damn that ass looks good whilst he does it."

Andrew agrees. He doesn't tell his cousin that. He watches and wonders and watches and wonders.

*

Neil is back every night after that - a slow crawl of colour cutting across the wall.

Andrew has no idea what he's painting and the sharp-tongued red head refuses to share whatever this is with anyone else. Not even Allison, resident gossip, knows what Neil is doing.

"It's his work," Renee says. "I think it's one he needs to share. We should let him."

So Andrew doesn't interrupt. He skates and loses himself in the flow of the park - not performing, just lazily looping around, taking rails and feeling the lurch of his stomach as he falls.

He doesn't talk to Neil again for weeks.

Except they've started sharing cigarettes.

Sometimes Neil will come to Andrew's side of the ramp to critique his project from afar.

And sometimes, Neil looks at him with those too blue eyes and Andrew wants to speak but can't.

 _Tongue-tied_ , Nicky would call it.

 _Whipped_ , Renee would say.

 _Pathetic_ , Aaron would add his tuppence.

But that was if he told them anything, which he doesn't, so it's not like it fucking matters does it.

*

When Neil appears a few days later, Andrew hands him a half smoked cigarette without asking. He goes to light another but his lighter won't catch.

"Here." Neil steps close so Andrew can put the tip of his cigarette against Neil's, so he can chain from the one that's now between Neil's lips.

They both breathe in. The tips, like their lungs, swell with fire.

They're so close again, Andrew can smell the distinctive mix of paint and body heat and peppermint.

"What is it?" Andrew asks.

"You mean you can't tell yet?" Neil's voice is amused, teasing. “I dream my painting and I paint my dream.”

"Quoting dead artists isn't cute."

"I don't know, it seems to work with you," Neil says, he hasn't stepped away.

He's smiling and he's still in Andrew's space and every time they breathe there's a small glissade of smoke between the two of them. It's delicious and disgusting and Andrew wants to punch him or kiss him, he's not sure which.

Probably punch him.

Neil lets the rest of his cigarette burn to the filter before he drops it and stubs out the cherry under his boot. It's a heavy combat book that shouldn't make his legs look impossibly long for someone so short but dear god they do.

"You lot call yourself Monsters right?"

Andrew's lip curls. "What of it?"

"Just interested. Any reason why?"

"You gonna give me a truth if I tell you?" Andrew waits for Neil's agreement. It comes with an amused flick of his eyebrows. "Because we're monstrous people who've been through monstrous things. It's no secret."

"Hm," Neil says. "More monstrous than me?"

"Uh uh, my turn." Andrew muses for a second, turns over the myriad questions on his mind. There's one which is the most important to him. "Renee says you didn't grow up a Hatford, in north London. Who are you?"

Neil's face is wiped of humour.

If Andrew believed in regret, he might feel it now.

"You should google the Butcher of Baltimore," Neil says. "He was my father."

And then he's away, moving so quickly that he seems to have shivered into shadow.

He pauses by the mural, squares his shoulders. And then he packs down and disappears into the cold January dark.

Andrew smokes, thoughtful and intrigued.

*

He googles the Butcher that night.

He finds Neil's face on the front of newspapers and his story told in a thousand different ways in the American press.

One includes leaked documents and photographs of Neil's injuries from his father. Neil looks terribly young and terribly human.

Andrew closes the browser down and listens to the creak of the flat he shares with Nicky, Erik, Aaron and Kevin.

He can hear the TV and the gentle murmur of conversation.

He thinks of when he met them, how young he'd been, the rage and loneliness. He'd be dead without them.

Somehow, he doesn't think the Hatfords play quite the same role for Neil.

No, he suspects that Neil is still desperately trying not to drown.

It might be the mural - the dark twists of it, the cruel colours that make no sense.

It might be the shadows in his eyes.

Neil isnt' fine though. That's for sure.

**VII - NEIL**

Neil is fine. He's totally, utterly fine.

His nerves aren't broken.

He hasn't spent twenty minutes dry-heaving into a loo.

He isn't stuck in a loop, remembering the savage yank of his mother's hands, her unforgiving rage.

He'd just handed Andrew Minyard the truth. He might as well have handed him a bullet.

 _Thought you weren't stupid or self-destructive_ , says a voice in his head. _Turns out you're both_.

God he _is_ an idiot.

Minyard hates him.

Minyard wants him gone.

All those years spent moving and hiding, undone just like that.

 _Fool_ , he tells himself, you utterly pathetic fool. You can't trust someone just because they can do a kick flip.

But it wasn't just that, was it?

It was how Andrew kept everyone away from his family.

It was how Andrew maintained the neutrality of the park.

It was how Andrew gave Neil cigarettes even though he let them burn down to the filter.

It was how Andrew never showed any kind of emotion unless it was in front of Neil.

There was something in that.

_Wasn't there?_

Was Neil just being oblivious like Matt always said?

But Neil really doesn’t get it - the way he feels around Andrew is strange and uncanny, like he’s running down a flight of stairs but missed the last step and he’s now off kilter and unbalanced and embarrassed.

He blames the amber eyes, so stony and blank and disconcerting.

Groaning, he rolls over and pressed his face into his pillow.

He doesn’t understand Andrew Minyard and he doesn’t understand himself.

He doesn’t have nightmares that night, because he doesn’t sleep.

**VIII - ANDREW**

It’s February and Andrew still can’t tell what Neil is painting but he does know a lot more about the new Hatford.

They’ve traded more secrets and cigarettes - he’s heard about how Neil ran with his mother, was rescued by his uncle, and felt the warp of scars on his hands.

In turn Andrew told Neil about meeting Kevin in the US and how they moved to London because of Kevin’s links to the Irish mob. He admits he’s dappled as a bodyman, been called on for odd jobs, dirty jobs.

He doesn’t know why he tells Neil all this. It’s stupid. Self sabotage.

But Neil has trusted him too.

Their only agreement is truth for truth.

It’s deceptively simple. It works for them.

“You gonna tell me what that mural is yet, Hatford?”

“Far too much fun to leave you guessing, Minyard.”

And so their ritual repeats.

Repeats and they grow - not comfortable exactly - but tolerant to each other’s presence.

Or they do right up until Neil staggers into the park one day, making a beeline for his mural but collapsing barely half way there.

Neil makes a sound of pure fury but he can’t get back up.

Not without a hand, which Andrew gives him.

Andrew props him up against the wall but Neil sinks down with another hiss of frustration.

“They kicked out my leg,” he says when Andrew asks. “They knew what _he_ did and they went for the knee.”

“Who?”

“Bloody Moriyamas.”

Andrew’s whole body tightens to a bow.

Aaron and Nicky’s heads whip round.

Kevin is thankfully working on some new trick and doesn’t hear Neil’s proclamation.

“You know them?”

Andrew says nothing. He thought they were done with that here. “They don’t have turf.”

“No but they want it. They’re pissing off a lot of families - tonight they tried it with us. No winners. No losers.” Neil’s face is creased by pain. He’s not looking at Andrew. “I needed to get away - my uncle - well. There’s bad blood there. Wait," he says, looking at Andrew as if only really seeing him for the first time. His eyes look luminous. "Didn't you know about this?"

Because yes, Andrew should have known.

Given the affiliation with Kevin, they should have been warned.

"Oh," Neil says. "Fuck."

Fuck is right.

The only reason they wouldn't be told, would be if there was factionalism in the mob. If the higher ups that looked out for Kevin, didn't already know.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Andrew watches Kevin skating on, unknowing, ignorant.

"Say it," he says.

"They're working with them. Someone down the mob food chain is letting the Moriyamas into London." Neil puts into words what Andrew knows in his gut. "Oh bloody buggering dog-shitting fuck."

Okay, maybe not that last bit.

"My brother is training to be a doctor," Andrew says. "He can check out your leg. Nicky grab Kevin. We're going."

"Wait huh?"

Neil startles when Andrew hoists him up by the elbow. He sways and his hands grab Andrew's forearms. "Wow you're... strong." Neil stares.

Dumb rabbit.

"I need to get Kevin away. You happen to be able to tell him what's going on. You need a medic. I happen to have one on hand. It's a win-win. Are you coming?"

Neil's attention drifts to his mural - the unfinished shadows and shapes that curl like beasts beneath the surface. "Okay."

Wrapping his arm around Neil's waist, Andrew helps him to their bikes. He shoves a spare helmet into Neil's arms.

"Hold tight," Andrew tells him.

Andrew totally does not feel heat curling where it shouldn't curl as Neil tucks himself close, chin grazing his shoulder.

It's the longest drive of Andrew's misfortunate life.

It also leads to the best evening he's had in a long long time.

He's never been so entertained as when Neil, with all the swagger of a cockney market seller, tells Kevin about the arrival of the Moriyamas and current gang warfare across the city.

Kevin freaks out, of course.

Nicky brings out the booze, of course.

Erik goes to bed, because apparently organised crime still isn't his thing.

Aaron checks Neil over.

"Bedside manner not your thing?" Neil teases, laughing at Aaron's glower. "I see how you're related now."

"We're identical twins."

"You're also about as similar as the two ends of Cat Dog."

Andrew sips his whiskey and watches it unfold, chaos in full swing around him, and he muses.

"I think we need to take out the traitors in the Irish mob," he says. The room silences. "And I think the Hatfords are going to help us."

**PART TWO**

**I - NEIL**

Neil returns home a few days later.

He's struggling to think of anything but Andrew.

They’d spent two days together at Andrew’s flat - he and Andrew using the time to plot and discuss how to oust the Moriyamas.

Aaron treated Neil’s leg.

Kevin drank himself numb.

Nicky and Erik took care of them all and for the first time, Neil felt like he was part of a family.

But now he’s home and Stuart is staring at him as if he has two heads.

“Partner with the mob? Are you soft in the sodding head?”

“Why not? the Moriyamas are a mutual issue.”

“If they have infighting to sort out, we’ll be there to feed from the carcass but we’re not going to broker an allegiance that we don’t need to protect a gang that we don’t like.”

“You’ll need them when Ichirou brings over more men. We barely kept turf last time—“

“Shut up about thinkgs you don't understand, lad.”

“No, you know I get it. This family has its delusions of grandeur and wants to cling desperately to the past. But that’s not working - you’re a gang full of kids with daddy issues and old pathetic men with no vision of the future. But guess what? The Moriyamas don’t give a fuck. Not about your goddamn status quo. Not about your petty gang boundaries or your turf agreements. Not about anything or anyone who isn’t themselves. So you want to watch the Irish get fucked? You might as well take a poker and shove it up your own ass.” He was glaring but otherwise calm. Hands loose at his sides, shoulders low.

“Just like Mary,” Stuart mutters, running a hand through silver hair. “Rude little shit.”

“Actually she tried to beat it out of me. Didn’t stick,” Neil does snap this time. “Think about the mob.”

He turns and slips away to his room, ignoring the pain he saw on his uncles face. His uncle knows Mary wasn’t a kind woman, he still finds it hard to accept the way she chose to raise Neil.

*

A day passes.

Another.

Neil is under watch given the previous attack was so directly against him and he's surprised to learn that at least some of it is because of genuine concern. His cousins assure him they’ll keep him safe.

Repeatedly.

I _s this because of saving Benny that one time_? 

Since living in England, Neil has felt obligated to obey and deliver for the Hatfords.

He knows what they paid for him. Knows what they thought he's worth.

And even when the job is awful, when he has to hurt people the way his father did, he lets his mind blank and hands do the work because it's for them, the Hatfords, his blood family that own him.

Yet now there is no sense of contract or property.

He's surprised and a little unsettled.

“Is this protecting an asset?” He asks Lizzie, a cousin with his mother’s colouring.

She frowns. “This is protecting family. You’re one of us now.”

But Neil thinks of Andrew. He remembers being surrounded by Monsters and wishing for that peculiar camaraderie instead of this stiff upper lip version of Playing House. They rattle around in the Hatford’s invariably huge houses - but there's no warmth.

Neil turns the heating on and texts Andrew.

**II - ANDREW**

N: cn I borrow a hoodie?

A: no

N: colder thn Hades

A: don’t care

A: also you have your own hoodies

N: ur hoodies r better thn mine

N: n mine smell of paint

A: that is your fault. not my problem.

N: 🥺🥺🥺

A: I said no.

N: ok

Andrew stares at his phone.

It must have been for a beat too long because Nicky tries to peer over at his texts and Andrew has to shove him away by his face.

“News from Neil? That is Neil right?”

“He’s cold.”

“Aw well let him know I’d happily warm him up.”

“Not happening.”

“Wait do you want to warm him up?”

Andrew stands and stalks away from Nicky. He’s not going to lie but he’s definitely not going to tell the truth either. Because he’s not sure when it happened but that niggling interest for Neil has become a full blown _Want_.

And yes, he wants to keep him warm. He wants to do a whole lot more too.

Grabbing his board from the front door, Andrew heads out into the chilly afternoon.

It’s Baltic, the kind where fingers and toes go numb and faces sting in the wind. Eldritch trees and frosty grass whip by him. He enters Hatford turf as if lured by a red string.

In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have crossed over without telling Neil.

He probably shouldn't have been on this side of town at all.

But he's not really thinking as he wends his way through north London towards the address he'd dropped Neil off at days before.

He too busy not thinking of the way Neil's legs felt against his on the bike.

Not thinking of his laugh - that low, surprised sound that fans the flames in Andrew's stomach, uncoils the snake in his spine.

He's not thinking about Neil so hard that he really shouldn't have been so distracted by memories that he's an easy target - but he is.

Two men step into the path of Andrew's board, two more stop him from escaping.

He takes a blow to his jaw, another to his stomach. Someone kicks the backs of his knees and he drops to the floor.

It happens so fast that he's spitting blood before he knows to retaliate.

They know his name. They ask him questions.

He tells them nothing - but he does say Neil's name.

_Why are you here? Who are you working for? We know you're A-Team. Are you working with the Moriayamas? Tell us what you're after._

"Neil Hatford," Andrew says over and over.

**III - NEIL**

Neil gets the call and goes with his uncle quietly.

His bag is over his shoulder - his set of knives, his hammer and nails, the skin graft that he had yet to use but knew one day he'd be asked to apply.

He feels sick.

He closes his mind down.

Moves onto autopilot.

Stuart looks at him askance, says something but Neil doesn't respond.

He can't when he's like this.

He's not Neil when he's like this anyway.

He's Hatford property.

He's Nathaniel.

He's a monster made from his father's blood.

And okay, it's not always unjustified - he's had no problem cutting the dicks off rapists and sex traffickers. He's had little issue taking fingers and toes from those who sell drugs to kids.

It's the rest - the rivals, the translation jobs, the teenagers who've made mistakes.

Setting examples isn't his thing but he's called into more and more of them. He hates it. He gets the impression this is one of those times. He's rolling out his implements before he realises who's tied to the chair.

Reality crashes through like a fist to the solar plexus.

"Andrew," he says and moves towards him before he can think. "Fuck no no no."

"You know this kid?"

"Yeah I-" Neil turns, sees his uncle's dangerously blank face and swallows. "He's... I'm... He's my... We're..."

How does he explain Andrew when he barely understands himself?

"Boyfriend," Andrew says. The word comes out thick and there's blood on his teeth.

"Boyfriend," Neil echoes, eyes wide and darting back and forth between Stuart and Andrew.

"You're bent?"

"I guess?" Neil says and regrets the inflection that makes it sound like a question.

"You're joking. We beat up your boyfriend? You're dating one of the Adam's Family? What the hell, Neil? Why didn't you tell us, we could have found you a nice boy from a better syndicate - I think Millie's cousin is gay--" The Hatfords dissolve into discussion and accusation.

Neil goes to Andrew, uncuffs him, rubs at the raw wrists and helps the shorter man stand.

Andrew leans against him, just for a second.

"Play along," Andrew murmurs into Neil's ear and drops his head against Neil's shoulder.

Neil cannot breathe.

"So this is why you've been so concerned with mob business," Stuart finally says, drawing the rest of the discussion to a close.

"Kinda?" Neil again can't stop his tone from rising. "But Andrew's not A-Team. He's freelance. Lives with Kayleigh Day's son."

"Kayleigh," Stuart looks pained. "Sweet girl. Talented."

"She was killed by the Moriyamas," Andrew says. "And her son wants nothing to do with them, even though they want him as much as they do Neil."

Stuart's mouth turns into a line. "You've given this one information then."

Neil gathers himself, places a tentative hand on Andrew's shoulder. "Yeah, I trust him. He kept me safe when Ichirou's people hit us last time."

It's not enough for Stuart, Neil can tell, but it'll do for now.

"Can we get a medic now?" Neil says, dialling up the attitude.

*

They do get a medic.

Andrew's injuries are relatively superficial though he needs stitches in his eyebrow.

He watches Andrew carefully as he's checked over - taking in the black nail varnish, the scabbed knuckles, the piercings in his ears and nose, the fine white blond hair.

He's always known Andrew is aesthetically attractive. He's broad shouldered and solid, a fierce and burning presence wherever he goes - no matter that his face stays impassive, his voice void of emotion.

But now details spring out at him.

He doesn't know what to do with them.

"Staring," Andrew drawls when they're finally alone.

Neil shrugs. "We're dating now. I'm allowed to stare at my boyfriend."

"Fake dating. Fake boyfriend."

"Sure," Neil says. That definitely doesn't sting. "You told me to play along."

"You're not usually so obedient."

Neil grins, drops a register, steps a little closer. "You'd be surprised," he says, feeling more than a little smug when the tops of Andrew's ears go pink. "So why did they pick you up?"

"You wanted a hoodie."

It's Neil's turn to be surprised.

"Really?" Andrew shrugs. "It's got blood on it now."

"I can wash it. You can borrow something of mine."

"No. Let's get out of here."

"To Southbank?" Andrew nods. "The others will be there soon."

**IV - ANDREW**

Nicky has hearded the Monsters to Southbank like the mother duck he longs to be.

"Just so you know, Neil and I are dating," Andrew announces as soon as Aaron has finished checking his face over. "And we're working with the Hatfords now."

Andrew doesn't say it's a ruse.

God knows Nicky can't keep a secret after all. Plus it's kind of amusing to see how jaws drop and eyes boggle.

Andrew touches Neil's hip in question and slips an arm around his waist when Neil turns slightly into him.

"Wait what wait huh?" Nicky can't form a sentence.

"Don't fuck in the communal areas," Aaron says. "It's unhygienic."

"But what about sponsors?" Kevin asks. "You'll jeopardise your chance of a contract. Don't you want to go pro?"

Andrew doesn't roll his eyes but Neil does.

"If you're done," he says. "I've got a mural to work on."

He's too goddamn pretty when he walks away.

And Andrew curses the situation with the same breath that he feels a thrill that he now has an excuse to be close to Neil. At least for the foreseeable.

 _What about when it's over?_ asks a voice in his head.

 _When it's over, it's over._ They can put their barriers back up, go their own ways.

This is to protect Kevin.

This is all to keep the Monsters safe.

To keep his promise to them, to protect them.

That's all.

**V - NEIL**

There are no real updates on the Moriyamas or the Hatfords or the Irish mob - not for a few days.

They skate. They paint. They smoke. They text. They start to call each other.

Late night conversations full of ramblings from Neil and weighty silences from Andrew.

Neil finally tells Andrew that he used to skate too - that growing up on the run, skateparks gave him a safe space, a place to be a kid. He misses it. But the reconstruction work on his leg meant he didn't have the mobility to trick anymore.

"So you got into art."

"Yeah."

Neil doesn't really know when he started doing more than just street tags and started working on bigger pieces. Graffiti came naturally to him - working in colours, figuring out the shades and the tone of what he wanted to create. It keeps him close to skating too.

"Junkie."

"And what about you?"

Andrew doesn't pause. He tells Neil about his fear of heights, of falling, how skateboarding replicated that fear. Andrew tells Neil how he was overmedicated as a teenager. How taking on a pipe or a ramp reminded him how to feel.

"I get it," Neil says.

"Sure you do," Andrew says.

But Neil can hear the flicker of recognition in Andrew's tone.

They aren't like for like.

They're opposite forces working together to gather momentum.

Though where that momentum is taking them, Neil doesn't know.

*

And then the limbo of waiting ends.

The Adams Family agree to a meeting with the Hatfords. Neil and Andrew are told to lay low.

They hang at the skatepark. Neil works on his mural. Andrew still hasn't figured it out yet. After, they go on a fake date for dinner. To keep up appearances of course. Andrew eats ice cream and Neil quesadillas. They don't talk but Andrew links their pinkies over the table.

Neil doesn't mind fake dating Andrew. He kinda likes it to be honest.

He's never really thought about dating before - its never been on his agenda because he's never been interested in anyone that way.

And even though he's not entirely sure how he feels about Andrew, he does trust him. Which is almost enough.

Plus there's that curl in his chest. He doesn't know how else to describe it. Like a hook below his sternum, sometimes curling all the way around his stomach. He knows that he feels safe with Andrew. That he feels nice when Andrew stands close or links their fingers. He knows he's never felt this way before.

He finds himself watching Andrew even more that before. He tells himself its for the art but honestly there's nothing quite like seeing that focus on Andrew's face when he's on a skateboard, seeing the flex in his muscles, the skill and balance, the rawness and danger.

Compared to others who hang there - Andrew is a different beast.

Matt's style owes itself to parks like Southbank.

Dan's moves suggest she grew up vert skating.

Kevin is all technical skill, perfect tricks.

Aaron has more fluidity, having grown up using his board to travel.

Andrew though - he's fearless, strong, fast too. Some of the stunts he pulls give Neil shivers, every hair raising along his arms.

"Young love is so cute," Nicky says, sitting by Neil that evening. "You two are hopeless for each other - never thought I'd see that from Andrew."

Neil doesn't say anything. He doesn't have a chance to answer.

Because one minute there's the rattle of wheels and the occasional whoop of success or oofed failure - and then there's screaming.

He's thrown himself over Nicky before he can think about it, pushing them both to the ground.

His eyes flick for Andrew and he sees that he's grabbed Kevin and is searching the room for Aaron. Neil nods when Andrew sees him with Nicky.

Men in black and red are pouring in.

They've sliced one girl's leg, slashed at another guy's stomach.

This is neutral turf but the Moriyamas don't give a fuck.

People who can are running. Neil knows they have to get out of here. He grabs Nicky's arm and tugs him fast as possible towards the river. Nicky stumbles but recovers.

Allison appears and pushes a knife into Neil's hand. "Renee says you know how to handle this."

It's not a question.

Neil takes it and gives her Nicky. "Look after him."

And then he shoves them away before spinning back into the fray.

There are numerous people bleeding - the Moriyamas have been efficient.

And it looks like they're after Kevin because four have gone straight for Andrew and Aaron.

Neil is still fast though - and his mind has found the blank, violent darkness that it needs to survive.

 _Blow to the temple, blade through the throat_.

It's easy as one, two, three.

 _Spin, kick, crush the oesophagus, knife into the eye_. He can't pull the knife free so he snaps the handle off and throws it at one of the goons coming to help out his buddies.

Two more try to attack, Neil levels them. Last time they caught him off guard but they've all been on alert since that close call.

Neil is too fast for them.

And Andrew - fuck when he sees Andrew slam a man's skull into the concrete, he feels heat in his stomach like nothing he's felt ever in his life.

"We only need to keep one alive," Neil calls to Andrew. "Do you want to choose which?"

Andrew actually grins. There's blood splatter on his face. Red rubbed through his hair where he's clearly pushed it back.

And okay, this heat is the best and worst thing Neil's ever felt.

They finish the fight.

A handful of the black glad men retreat.

Andrew has a baby faced man with an Irish accent by the hair. He knocks him out and dumps him on the ground.

"Think we might need a crew," he tells Neil.

"Already on it," Renee says. She's not even panting.

Neil sinks fully back into his body. His leg throbs and he winces.

Andrew is at his side in an instant, holding him up, unmoving and solid.

Neil leans against him, all instinct. Heat churns inside him.

"I think I want to kiss you," Neil says. He's high on adrenalin and pain.

"Then kiss me," Andrew says, a dare in his amber eyes like dawn hitting the horizon, an irresistable glow.

So he kisses him.

**VI - ANDREW**

Andrew spends hours thinking about that kiss.

About Neil's lips, daring though endearingly shy.

About how those lips settled upon his for a slow moment.

About how he pulled Neil's bottom lip between his own, delving deeper into something he had once thought impossible.

About how Neil asked afterwards, in words too quiet for anyone else to hear: "Are we still fake dating?"

About how he didn't reply but only kissed him again, harder, kissed him until he moaned and someone coughed and he looked over to see bloody Stuart Hatford had arrived. And hadn't that been a buzzkill, though Neil might have an exhibitionist streak because he didn't let go of Andrew, only lazily turned his head and smiled at his uncle like they hadn't just both killed a bunch of people then made out afterwards.

"I'm beginning to see why this works," Stuart had said.

It looked like several of Neil's cousins agreed.

And so did Rory "Kelly" Adams, Kayleigh Day's brother-in-law and Andrew's main connection to the work he'd done for the Irish.

They were scooped up and taken away from the scene, cleaners rushed in before the cops and by the time they were done it was an empty skatepark once again.

Andrew's gift - the unconscious attacker - had been taken back for questioning.

Apparently they wanted Neil to lead on the interrogation, though Neil wasn't happy about it. He'd immediately unwrapped himself from Andrew, crossed his arms and lost all expression from his face. It was disconcerting, seeing all the fire in Neil's usual demeanour vanish. To have so much physical space so fast.

But Neil went with Stuart and Andrew went with Rory, Monsters in tow.

(And all the way he can't stop thinking about that kiss, can't stop replaying that moment when Neil pulled away.)

They're now en route to find out whatever information had been extracted but Andrew can't concentrate.

He wants to see Neil.

No, he wants to never have left Neil at all.

 _Is this regret?_ It tastes bitter on his tongue.

**V - NEIL**

Neil's hands are stained red and there's blood under his nails.

His ears hurt from the screaming.

His jaw from clenching it so tight.

Staring into space, a cup of tea gone cold beside him, he's aware of people around him, coming and going with Irish and English accents.

He's aware of Andrew's arrival too and the warmth from his body beside him.

He's aware dimly of Andrew talking in a low voice about skateboarding.

Blinking, he tries to listen but can't, tries to say something but can't do that either. He's too exhausted.

The information he's extracted was good. Between the two syndicates, there's no doubt the Moriyamas will be out of London within the week. Neil just wants to wash off the blood and sleep.

"There's no blood. Your hands are clean."

 _Andrew_?

"Yeah, rabbit, it's me."

 _Oh so he is able to speak_. He can't hear himself though. It's like being under water, the surface swimming in and out of focus.

At some point, he's picked up and moved into his own bed.

At some point, he realises the warmth Andrew's providing is retreating and he reaches out, tugs.

 _Stay_ , he wants to say.

 _Stay_ , Andrew does.

Neil isn't sure if he spoke aloud or if Andrew just knows him by now.

Either way, he falls asleep feeling warm and safe.

He sleeps the whole way until morning.

**VI - ANDREW**

The tidy up is easy after that.

There's a raid that Andrew takes part in where they decimate the rest of the Irish support for the yazuka's play into London.

It's later confirmed that the Moriyama's second son, Riko, has been put on a plane back to America.

Neil recovers. Turns out he has a bit of a dissociative disorder when it comes to the bloodier work, none of the Hatfords knew except Stuart (who had definitely worked to keep that under wraps). But Andrew talks Neil back into the present and Neil kisses Andrew into oblivion.

Neither of them are sure what comes next.

They skate - Neil too after Andrew finds him an electric board that he can use for cruising.

They paint - well Neil paints.

Andrew realises with some awe that Neil's created a bird eyes view of his tricks across the whole wall. The centrepiece is bright coloured version of people, their faces obscure but their bodies so clearly depicting each of the Monsters and Renee and Allison and Matt and Dan.

The word Pipe Dream is centre to it all. A linchpin holding the work together.

"Where are you in this?" he asks Neil.

"I'm all of it," Neil replies.

Andrew wraps an arm around Neil's chest, pulls him flush against him, resting his chin on Neil's shoulder.

“I dream my painting and I paint my dream," Andrew echoes Neil's words from a time that seems so long ago.

"Quoting dead artists makes you really bloody cute," Neil says and he turns in Andrew's arms, licking the retort from between Andrew's teeth.

Someone (suspiciously Aaron-like) says: "Can we extend neutral zone to no snogging?"

"Shut up it's adorable." And that sounds like Nicky.

**\- THE END -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, feels, hit me !!
> 
> ALSO 
> 
> The ever talented Pipedreamsunderdesertskies has created this awesome piece of Skater!Andrew art to go with this AU - https://pipedreamsunderdesertskies.tumblr.com/post/190460417278/skaterandrew-for-scribbleb-red 
> 
> And the lovely Vattu has also done two beautiful pieces of Neil and Andrew here - https://twitter.com/midfreewayfox/status/1220069861654781953?s=20


	48. The Transfer (A Trojan!Neil to Fox AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want a fic where theres no mafia and Neil transfers from the trojans, now he's not just a dumb jock he's a dumb cali jock, how would Andrew deal." 
> 
> A 5k Morning Au inspired by this tweet from the wonderful @neilminyard10.

Imagine this.

It is the end of Andrew's second year at Palmetto when Kevin tells him they're flying to California for a new recruit.

_No fucking way_ , Andrew thinks _. If he never has to step foot in that state again it'll be too soon._

But it's Kevin and they have a deal. And even if he's slowly losing respect for the former Raven with his spine that bends like sea grass, the deal is the deal.

So Andrew packs his bag, meets Wymack and Kevin at security, and drinks his way from take off to touch down.

It's been a hard fucking year for the Foxes. Barely scraping their way into quarterfinals, even with Kevin picking up a racquet again - they were a mess. No matter how sharp their teeth, everyone knew the ERC wanted to demote them out of Class I.

Kevin is desperate too. It's in his eyes, his cradled left hand, his shoulders when he thinks no one is looking.

Desperate because consensus says his exy career is over.

Desperate because Riko's flock of itty bitty broken birds decimated the Foxes after their district change.

Desperate because it's in the spirals of Kevin's DNA to *be* desperate. He needs this game in way that Andrew will never understand.

Whoever they're trying to lure out of California, however, has Kevin excited.

It almost makes Andrew consider being _interested_.

But really, how interesting could a freshman be?

He doesn't care anyway. Stickball means less and less to now he's off the meds - and Kevin hasn't been doing much to change that.

California is a hateful blur through the cab window.

Andrew hasn't missed this place. Hasn't missed the traffic or the vistas of Los Angeles. Hasn't missed the salt-sticky heat or the scent of scrub and hot tarmac and palm trees. Hasn't missed the June gloom that's dispersing as they drive towards whatever shitty school or juvie Kevin found this kid in.

Nah, Andrew did this road too many times as a child. Shipped back to the city to a group home before being carted out again to another family in the suburbs who wouldn't want him. He closes his eyes again, tries to feel something. Just being here leaves him empty.

So they drive and they park and Andrew's a shadow in the Californian light.

He doesn't fit here - never has, never will.

He can see it in the eyes of the people they pass.

Kevin must glimpse it too because he frowns at Andrew like he's never seen him before.

"Andrew?" Kevin says.

Andrew looks at him and Kevin looks back and he imagines Kevin can see his disdain, his lack of interest, his boredom.

Kevin winces and ducks away.

Wymack has watched it all, carefully neutral.

Andrew doesn't care.

The students here are bronzed skin and white veneers. They are sun kissed and trying to be beautiful. Andrew is hard black lines, jagged edges. He is practiced in being ugly, unapproachable. A wall against such meaningless smiles.

_God he hates California. Where even are they?_

Realisation doesn't take long. It's USC.

He raises one brow. Doesn't ask.

He'll figure it out later.

Can't be bothered to start caring now. Keeps that mindset until they're entering the Trojan's exy stadium - it's purple and gold and stinks of sweat and bleach in equal measure.

Andrew's been here before - on an away day with his juvie team, a "treat" for good behaviour. It was just as garish then. In fact, the only thing that's changed is the new banner on the wall from where Jeremy Knox led his team to victory against the Ravens that spring.

One good thing about this year: Riko didn't win.

It's probably the only reason that Kevin hadn't crawled back to Edgar Allen already.

Riko didn't win championships. The Trojans did.

So who's the lucky recruit? Andrew wonders, looking at his nails, bitten short to the point of painful.

Will it be some asshole whose Silicon Valley parents didn't love him enough maybe? An LA latchkey kid? Another addict like Seth and Matt and Aaron?

A door swings open and closed.

"Jean," Kevin says, his voice warm. "Jeremy." Even warmer. Then: "Nathaniel."

"It's Neil." Not warm. Not even tepid.

Andrew looks up. His face thinks about frowning but doesn't. That would be effort.

Jean Moreau and Jeremy Knox stand either side of the familiar figure of Neil Josten - No.11, the Trojan's freshman striker.

His eyes are the coldest blue Andrew has ever seen, including himself. Utterly frozen and utterly beautiful.

Andrew's seen him through screens before, on Kevin's endless reruns.

He knows if the Foxes had played well enough this season, they might have met on a court.

He knows Josten's stats, knows he's tipped as the fastest starting striker in Class I exy.

He doesn't know why Josten is here.

Or at least. He tells himself he doesn't know.

Deep down, he already gets it.

Deep down, he's already clocked that they're going to be taking this red-headed, fleet-footed, cold-eyed, dumbass Californian jock home to Palmetto. A sophomore. Not a freshman.

_The question is: why?_

Is it to do with the spiderweb of scars across Neil’s cheek - new enough to still be angry pink? Or perhaps the burns on his arms like someone had methodically tried to tear him apart? Or maybe that mouth - the sharp and abrasive personality that jarred so much with Knox’s team.

Andrew finds Neil peculiar - too tanned and too pretty to be anything but a Trojan, yet scarred like a Fox. Eyes like a Fox.

Still Neil is able to laugh and jostle with the others when Wymack leaves to find the Trojan coach.

His smile is pure SoCal - sunshine and a seabreeze. Well. If the sunshine was glinting off a knife blade or the seabreeze was whipped off the Atlantic before a hurricane.

It doesn't matter.

Andrew watches because he has no desire to be part of the conversation - watches Josten accept nudges from Jeremy, pick up the flow for Jean, eye Kevin like something dangerous and uncertain.

Papers are signed. Looks are exchanged.

"Are you sure?" Jeremy says at one point.

Neil smiles that smile, nods.

Still there's the niggling question of _why, why, why._

_Why leave the best team in Class I?_

_Why join the worst team in the division?_

_Why join a team with Kevin Day, if you don't trust Kevin Day?_

But that is what's happening.

Neil Josten, Trojan Number 11, is becoming Neil Josten, Fox Number 10. 

He’s transferring and somehow he has the support of both teams. There's literally nothing acrimonious, just a shaking of hands. Kevin and Jeremy look just as proud as the other.

And then Andrew is back in the car with Kevin and Wymack and Neil has his arm around Jean's waist in the rearview mirror.

And they're leaving the cursed state of California hundreds of thousands of feet below.

And summer rolls on and Andrew almost forgets (of course he doesn't, he can't forget).

***

The new season starts, and with it the news breaks that Neil Josten is moving to the Foxes. Exy headlines ring with his name, all asking the same question Andrew's been asking since that sticky hot day in California.

_Why? Why? Why? Why?_

When Kevin tells Andrew they're going to pick Neil up from the airport, he uses that other name again: Nathaniel.

Andrew asks, "Why do you call him that?"

Kevin looks sheepish. "Our moms were friends... He came to the Evermore Little Leagues with me and Jean."

And Riko.

"He knows you."

"Yes. When we were kids."

"And he still wanted to be a Fox?"

"Oh fuck off."

"But then who would protect your hide, Kevin?" Andrew drawls, lights a cigarette and inhales. "Is he going to be a problem?"

"No," Kevin says.

Andrew doesn't believe him.

But in Kevin's defence, he wasn't lying.

Neil isn't a problem. He's a nightmare. Because Neil is a dumb Californian jock. He has a thousand and one stupid fucking habits and he says 'hella gnarly' non-ironically. He's also stupid pretty, wicked fast, and scores on Andrew twice in their first week of practice – both times because Andrew was distracted by the true blue flame of his eyes. Kevin has the audacity to grin.

It doesn't help that Neil isn't actually Californian (apparently he's from "everywhere" - Andrew takes that as code for foster kid). Nor is he a dumb jock, more's the pity. If he was stupid, maybe Andrew could have at least found him boring. Instead, he's quickly coming to loathe Neil Josten for many reasons and not least because Neil makes him need to work to defend the goal. Actually practicing is almost against Andrew's religion.

But the summer practice bleeds into pre-season. And Andrew notices that sometime during the last few weeks, Kevin's spine has become a little straighter. Working with Josten is bringing something out in Kevin Day.

That something quickly shrivels with the other new recruits.

There's more than usual - with two standing out for being even bigger assholes than the usual variety of Fox freshman. Andrew makes his own fun, aiming balls at people's ankles, savouring whenever they invariably clip the freshers, who aren't yet used to leaping when Andrew says jump.

He never manages to hit Neil.

***

It turns out that Neil is someone who can get along with anyone without becoming anyone’s friend - he’s quickly beloved by the upperclassmen and accepted by the freshmen and eases into the team steadily, surely.

He practices with Kevin at night. Andrew attends, watches, drinks in the sight of Josten in orange, speeding down the court, doing everything he can with his step count to pick up speed, pass, catch, pass, catch.

But Josten doesn’t try to get any closer - not to his roommates: Matt and Aaron; not his mentor, Kevin; definitely not the girls, who he shies away from like they bite. It’s not arrogance though, that holds him apart, it’s something else. The same thing that makes him a Fox.

He hears Neil say to Kevin that the Trojans had helped him a lot – that even this was an improvement from last year where he couldn’t so much as accept a hand up after being knocked down without panicking.

“We can get better, Kevin. We need to if we’re going to be the best.”

Kevin doesn’t reply. Andrew pretends not to have heard. It’s just another question about who Neil is, why he’s there. He has a growing list.

Andrew makes a decision after Neil’s first public appearance - an interview with exy’s least likeable pundit, Kathy Ferdinand. Like last year, she wants Kevin on stage, and she demands Neil too. He looks like he wants to refuse but doesn’t.

Andrew’s attention sharpens.

Lights go up. Pleasantries happen. The cameras roll.

Kathy asks the same question everyone has asked since Neil’s change in teams:

“So Neil, tell us why you left beautiful California to join Palmetto State’s Foxes?”

Neil’s grin weaponises. "Isn't it obvious, Kathy? To play with Kevin Day, of course."

Andrew detects that same strange tone when Neil says Kevin's name - not warm or fond. Cold.

It alerts the hairs on his arms, sending them prickling beneath his armbands.

"Kevin and I go way back," Neil adds. "We played together as kids, Little League. As much as I loved playing with the Trojans, when Kevin reached out to see if I'd consider transferring, I jumped at the chance to play with him again."

It was - word by word - exactly what had been in his signing statement from July.

Kevin sits beside Neil, stage smile in place, nodding along. Andrew can see the tick that belies his irritation. "When I realised Neil was the new Trojan's striker last year, I got back in touch. As kids, we trained together briefly but Neil left quite the impression."

"I'm sure he did," Kathy says. "He's certainly made quite an impression on us, hasn't he?"

The audience claps and Neil smiles at them all - looking oh so innocent for a man who's mouth is a knife.

"And your first game of the season was quite the performance. Congratulations."

"Thank you, it was a good win. I've said it before but the Foxes have it in them to be great," Kevin says. "I see potential in them. Especially with strikers like Neil on the team."

Andrew snorted. They'd scraped by because Wymack bribed him with whiskey to close the goal.

There are the usual questions next:

_How did it feel to play as a Fox, Neil?_

_Do you miss your old team, Neil?_

_Is the move permanent, Neil?_

_Do you really not regret no longer being part of the best team in Class I exy, Neil?_

_What about your old teammates and captain?_

Kathy isn't getting what she wants though. Her frustration bubbles up in a question so forward even some of the producers in the front row wince.

"So you're saying the move had nothing to do with your family? We all know about Coach Wymack's criteria, what made you a Fox?"

"You mean you want my tragic backstory?" Neil says.

He is still smiling.

"I'm a Fox for the same reason as every other Fox. I _survived_."

If she were smart, Kathy would have backed off then. She isn't. She says, "I had heard--"

"My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic. My father is dead." Neil says and gestures at his scars. "There's all of this. It's not a secret. But the gnarly details aren't necessary to understand why I am a Fox. I survived. And I'm here to play exy. Any questions about the game?"

Kathy coughs.

Awkward.

Undermined by Neil's blunt answer.

Andrew's mouth twitches up.

"Tell us more about your childhood friendship with Kevin. What was he like so young?"

"Talented. Precocious. He worked harder than anyone else, cared more. It's why he's the best striker in Class I."

"Alongside Riko Moriyama and yourself."

And - oh - Neil's smile is a wicked, wicked thing now as he leans forwards towards Kathy, shoulder brushing against Kevin who has gone very, very still.

She really shouldn't have riled him.

"No," Neil says. "Kevin is the best, and in my opinion Riko has peaked. He can't get any further with Edgar Allen, not as it is. They're haemorrhaging their best players - first Kevin to Palmetto, then Jean to USC. Now stats show less and less of their players are making Court. The Ravens held dominance for a good amount of time but they're atrophying as their style of game and methods of training stay stuck in the past."

"That's an interesting perspective. They're still the second team in the league."

"For how much longer?" Neil says, shrugging. "I'll be surprised if they even make the finals this year."

The crowd is whispering. Kevin is pale and silent and his smile is a grimace.

Andrew feels like laughing.

He f _e e l s, feels, feels._

Who the fuck is Neil Josten? And why the hell is he a Fox?

_Consider Andrew officially intrigued._

Because he doesn't buy the simplicity of childhood friendship, nor the tragedy of Neil's endlessly ruined skin. Something more is happening here.

And even though that night isn't post-game, it is a Saturday and fuck does Andrew want to let off steam. It might not be a good idea, but he _wants_ some goddamn answers. He doesn't give Neil much warning. He tells him to join the Monsters for Eden's that night.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Aaron in the background of Neil's dorm room.

Aaron hasn't spoken to Andrew in months, not since the fiasco with the cheerleader, but for a second he looks like he might open his mouth and say... nothing.

The moment passes.

The twins stay silent.

But Neil agrees to join Andrew and Kevin.

It's the first time but not the last time Neil comes out with them.

Neil drinks, but never much.

Neil answers questions, but only on exchange. Andrew finds he doesn't mind. Perhaps last year when he was manic on meds, the glacial pace of this conversation would bother him. He’d have added crackers to the drinks and pushed Neil until he cracked open and all his secrets spilled forth. But the Monsters don’t dust without Aaron. They drink and dance and occasionally Andrew slips off to see Roland.

Thing is, he knows Neil is no danger to Kevin and their deal - if anything, he's showing Kevin how to stand up straighter, taller; in fact, he's seen Kevin pick up his racquet with his injured hand more than once since Neil arrived. That's an improvement.

No. Andrew isn't curious because Neil is a danger. He's curious because Neil has a fire that Andrew wants to taste. He's curious because Neil is a relentless mix of spite and fury, hope and hunger.

And it undoes something in Andrew.

It interests him.

Sparks in his nerves.

Throws gasoline on his lungs and sets his veins on fire.

Andrew just wants to _understand_ \- what makes this dumbass jock from California tick? what made him want to take on Riko and the Ravens by insulting them on TV? what inspired him to join the Foxes?

And he's slowly slowly slowly unravelling Neil to get some answers.

They share stories and cigarettes, passing smoke and time between them.

They sit on rooftops and watch the day end over and over again.

He learns that Neil only spent the last few years in California, but the landscape of his past is as pitted and punishing as Andrew's own.

One night, there's a brief moment where Nicky drunkenly propositions Neil and Neil very quietly rebuffs him.

But the look he shares with Andrew afterwards makes him wonder: what does "doesn't swing" mean to Neil?

They win games. They win games after those games. At the banquet, it's clear the other teams are pretty impressed with the changes happening in the Foxes, even if they are still ragged and rough and rude. Kevin is proud. Not even the Ravens' sneering can make him cringe.

After dinner, Neil slips off to greet the Trojans.

Andrew keeps him in view, watches Jean pull Neil in tight, sees Neil relax into his embrace, notes Jeremy's affection.

It pulls at Andrew's gut. Jealousy? _No_. Curiosity? _Maybe_. Longing? _Oh shut up, subconscious. You asshole_.

It's a horrible evening and Andrew officially hates Neil Josten. That's the only word he can find that seems even vaguely accurate. Hate. Hate. Hate.

And then it happens.

Riko.

The moment has been coming for a long time. Riko is petty. Andrew has told Neil before that there would be retaliation for Kathy Ferdinand.

Neil had waved him off. "Let him come," he'd said.

He didn't anticipate this though.

To be fair, neither had Andrew.

Because no one expected Riko to go after Kevin.

But Riko stands toe to toe with Neil and the whole room holds its breath. Andrew finds his knives are in his hands at his side, that Renee has stepped up beside him and behind them the Foxes bristle - one wary pack of feral beasts that only unite against a common enemy.

"It's good to see you again, Nathaniel."

Neil's eyebrow curves upwards and Andrew's chest clenches - he's fairly certain the striker learnt that from him.

"Riko."

Riko's face is a perfect mask and he says, "Have you seen Kevin? I wanted to tell him I saw the news."

Neil stays still but Andrew is scanning the room for Kevin.

"Well, when you see him, tell him I understand now why he joined the Foxes. Really, I get it," Riko says, sounding oh so sincere. "Having just lost my father, I totally understand why he'd want to spend time with his."

There's a beat and then there's a gasp and someone is staring at their phone and then another someone and another phone and another and another and another and the Banquet is suddenly full of one story _: Kevin Day is David Wymack's son_.

_Well, shit_. Andrew pushes through the crowd to where he last saw Kevin - he's not there. He's not there but Andrew has a feeling he knows where he'll be.

He finds Kevin on the bus, hidden in the same row where they'd found him all those months before, bloodied and running away from Riko's violence. But he's not alone. Jean Moreau and Jeremy Knox are there in Trojan colours. Andrew notes that purple suits Jean better than black.

It's funny seeing the three of them like this, huddled close. Moreau and Knox are polar opposites until you put Kevin in the middle and suddenly they make sense, like Newton's cradle.

"It's true then?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Andrew goes back for Neil. He'll get answers tonight.

But no. As usual, he doesn't get answers that night.

Neil spends half an hour brokering peace with the Foxes before Wymack appears, looking older than ever, to take them out, away, home.

Andrew sees the tension in Neil's shoulders, the fury buzzing beneath his skin.

The next few days are answerless too. There's press to do, the Palmetto board to appease. Headlines splash with Kevin's name. Anchors talk about nepotism and special treatment. One idiot asks if Neil is Wymack's kid too. It's a mess.

It's a week later when Neil and Andrew end up alone for the first time since the Banquet. Neil smokes in silence, sprawled on the granite, feet dangling. He's tense. He's angry. He's too fucking pretty in the fading sunlight - his skin gold and freckled and soft to the eye.

"Kevin told me you made him a deal." Neil says once the cherry of his cigarette sputters against his fingertips. "I understand what he gets from you but not what you get from him."

"Is that your question?"

"No," Neil says. "I want to know if you'd make one with me."

Andrew tips his face up to the sky. He can feel Neil's stare on his skin.

"So what you're scared of Riko now too?"

"Ha, no," Neil says. "No, I'm not looking for your protection."

A pity, Andrew thinks, keeping Neil alive might actually be fun.

"The only thing that matters to Riko is winning. He's nothing without the Ravens, without his number. Losing to the Trojans last year wasn't enough because it's always been those teams at the top. But losing to the Foxes, to Kevin... I want you help to destroy him. For good." Neil's voice has that edge - the one that brandishes itself whenever Neil says Kevin's name, that cuts down journalists and dissects the freshmen when they're slacking.

Andrew's hands clench. He would like to kiss that edge, lick it from Neil's mouth, see if it made him bleed.

"And how do you propose I do that?"

"Play the game," Neil says. "Close down the goal. We beat him on the Court. It's the only place that matters to him."

Andrew scoffs. _Of course._ _It's always for the game._

Andrew lights another cigarette, glances through slitted eyes at Neil sprawled beside him.

The striker is bundled up in an old Trojans hoodie and dark ratty jeans.

As sunset bleeds into dusk, Andrew wonders how the rest of the team can't see how deadly this boy is. How dangerous.

"Last I checked we played on the same team."

"Do we?" Neil says. And for a second Andrew wonders if they're talking about something else. Neil's attention is heavy, prickling.

"And what do you think I want in exchange? The joy of the win?"

Kevin certainly thought as much, the fool.

"I'm not going to presume to know what you want or try to force you into something. Think about what I'm asking. Decide what you want in exchange. If I can, I'll give it to you."

"And if you can't?"

"Then we discuss it. Find out what I can give. What you can give." Neil lifts his hand and Andrew gives him the cigarette. “I understand boundaries. So do you.”

The rest of that night is silence.

But Andrew knows what he wants.

He's been asking the same question since that sticky, hazy day in Los Angeles. He wants to know _why_.

Why is Neil here? Why does he want to bring down Riko? Why was he a Trojan? What does he have on Kevin?

It takes a few days - in which the press is finally brought to heel with a little help from Stefanie Walker and an exclusive interview with Kevin and Wymack - but when Andrew finally tells Neil what he wants, Neil's surprise is... well... surprising.

"That's all?"

Andrew can see the cogs turning in Neil's head - they've been playing their truth game for weeks now. What he's asking for is honesty.

"Tell me the truth. Tell me why you're doing this and we have a deal," he had said. Now he adds. "Keep being honest and I'll keep playing."

A deceptively simple request.

And Neil takes his time before agreeing - it's a delay that only piques Andrew's interest more.

He really hates Neil Josten for all the ways he makes him feel: curious, amused, frustrated, angry, like maybe he should just reach out and—

It happens that weekend after their match against the Bingbats or whatever they're called.

They go to Sweeties. Go to Eden's. Go home. Neil has a key now and he holds it like a treasure.

Andrew feels the absence of his twin more than usual that night.

Maybe because Neil's presence is so loud, so close, so heavy.

Neil's story goes like this:

"You've heard some of it already - my mum's a paranoid schizophrenic. She thinks my dad is in the mafia - and he's an asshole who likes to hit anything within reach but he's not what she thinks when she's off her meds, which is often…. And also why we ended up spending years 'on the run' moving place to place. She thought he was chasing us."

"Sounds rough."

"My intricate and endless mommy issues? Sure."

Neil tells his story in pieces, like he's reaching for different parts of the puzzle & fitting them together for the first time.

"At first, I went in and out of the system whenever she got sick enough to need institutionalising or additional care. As I got older, I got better at hiding what was happening with her. Protecting her."

Andrew doesn't miss how Neil's mouth twists.

"And then she stopped taking her meds entirely."

She drugged Neil's food, shoved him in a car, took them down to the black sand beaches of California.

"I woke up to find her pouring gasoline on the car. I was soaked. She was soaked. I managed to get out but... I got out."

Neil pauses for a long while. Andrew thinks he can see the beach, feel the sand, smell the gasoline and salt air and leather seats.

He rattles through the next part. How after that incident, she went into St Mags and Neil went to a group home in LA - new city, new school, new life. He got a part time job to pay for the bus to visit his mom - it was at a local sports hall, cleaning up after the games and such, but there was an exy team that played there...

"Let me guess, you couldn't resist the lure of the net."

"Call me predictable, I guess," Neil says, shrugs, smiles. And oh how that smile makes Andrew furious.

"Fucking junkie."

"It worked out, the coach spotted me, got me training, told me to apply for scholarships."

"And the Trojans took you in?"

"Not exactly. I applied to Edgar Allen."

Andrew sits up. "If this is about revenge for being turned down--"

"I wasn't turned down." Neil holds up a hand. "Jean stopped me before my application reached Riko and Tetsuji."

"He was there when we were all in the Little Leagues. He told me about Kevin's hand, that he was trying to leave the Ravens too. He told me how bad it was. Told me everything that they'd done to him, to Kevin, to the other players who’d dropped out. Did you know their rate of self-harm and suicide is nearly four times higher than any other team in any college sport?"

There it is - the edge, the glittering anger, the tone of a man who would burn down the world.

"I still don't understand how Kevin could leave Jean in that place. Why he wouldn't do everything to bring the Ravens' down..."

"Because he's spineless?"

"Maybe. My childhood taught me to run and hide. His taught him to bend. Maybe we're both cowards."

Andrew can't think of a word that suits Neil less than "coward". Sure, he can see the jackrabbiting fear beneath Neil's skin, the darkness that burns, the distrust - but Neil's heart is a tinderbox and Andrew loves to see it catch fire.

"We made a promise as kids, Kevin and I. A deal of our own. To be the best. Together."

Andrew wonders if Riko was part of that promise too.

"I got in touch, asked if it was true about Riko. He put me in touch with Jeremy. Said they'd make me the best. That he was coaching here and wanted nothing of me." 

Why does Andrew feel like that hurt Neil more than he's letting on? 

"He told me our promise was void because he was _done_." Neil snorts. "But then last year happened and he was back on court thanks to _you_. And he was _good_ still. And Riko kept trying to tear him down, bring him to heel, continue the fucking abuse long distance and I... I was a Trojan. They're good people. They helped me with everything with my mom after she..."

He gestures to all of himself. Andrew knows that story.

About the mom who kidnapped her son, who thought he was possessed, who tried to torture the evil out of him.

Neil has let Andrew trace the scars on the back of his hand before. Andrew's thrown out his car lighter since. He can’t look at it without thinking of Neil’s ruined skin.

"So there it is: the truth. I moved here because of Kevin. Because we made a promise _to win_ and I want to see it through. Being here was the only way to do that. And now we need to bring down Riko - because I know Kevin will fail unless we can destroy him."

"Riko can't have Kevin."

"I know. You protect him. He's stronger thanks to you. But after university? When we get to Court? The Olympics? Riko will be on the same team and you know Kevin will crumble."

It is true.

Andrew knows it is true.

He also knows he's not going to spend the rest of his life trailing after Kevin just so the other man can play stickball.

Exy is more interesting with Neil in the game, but it's not enough, not yet, not how it is.

"Is it enough?" Neil says. "Will you play with us?"

Andrew thinks about it. "Keep being honest with me and I'll help you."

Neil smiles. He shouldn't be allowed to smile. Not when it's all teeth, vicious and violent.

"Sometimes I'd quite like to kiss you, Andrew Minyard."

And Andrew is so thrown that for a moment he is the one staring.

"Think about it," Neil says.

And then he's gone. Uses his key and leaves Andrew on the porch.

And Andrew's wondering if he really could kiss Neil Josten's knife-blade smile and live.

***

The rest of the story may feel familiar.

There are days full of exy and night full of rooftops and long drives and cigarettes shared and stolen.

Andrew does kiss Neil - many many times - he will also nip at his neck, suck his way down Neil’s flat belly and then dip lower.

They have conversations where Neil tells him about demisexuality and how one of the Trojans helped him figure that one out.

“Last year I was a mess.”

“You’re still a mess, junkie.”

And Neil will only smile against Andrew’s pulse point, close enough to feel it jump.

They will lose matches and win championships.

Kevin will learn how to stand tall. He will get a tattoo on his cheek and call himself the deadliest piece on the board.

Riko will bow his head in shame as allegation after allegation comes out about the systemic abuse of Ravens.

Neil has won and will keep winning.

Andrew finds he quite likes being there to watch his sweaty helmet come off and that ferocious grin tear its way across his face.

Andrew finds he quite likes the feeling of being on fire with Neil. He might even find it worth living for.

Not that he was ever going to let anyone else know that.

Neil was a dumbass and a jock and from fucking California, but he burned a flame that tasted like hope - and Andrew felt that perhaps he kind of liked it.

**THE END**


	49. Happy Birthday Neil - A Morning AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s funny that second birthday with the Foxes - they all floated over the 19th January, letting it pass without mention of bloody lockers or reminiscing over old threats. But now that everyone knows when to celebrate Neil's official new birthday in March, they are very determined to do so.
> 
> Basically it's Neil's birthday and the Foxes go overboard, including Andrew.

It’s funny that second birthday with the Foxes - they floated over the 19th January, letting it pass without mention of bloody lockers or last year's threats.

But now that everyone knows when to celebrate Neil's official new birthday in March, they are very determined to do so.

Neil isn’t prepared - not for the fuss and attention or the soft feeling that blooms in his chest as he’s bundled around for a week of celebrations - pancakes with Matt and Dan, Kevin joining on a run, Nicky hanging balloons and buying extra nice coffee for their room.

He’s also woefully unprepared for the parties. Plural.

It's not that he minds per se. He doesn’t mind the small gathering of Foxes plus Katelyn for a movie night, quite likes them all joining again for Eden’s, he doesn’t even mind when they throw a party in the dorms as well and half of the halls turn up. He just wasn't prepared. Since when had he ever celebrated another year of being alive? This is the first time he's really had a reason... 

There’s singing - lots of it - Neil knows all the words and is repeatedly pulled into the karaoke video game that Allison’s bribed Aaron to set up. He knows the Foxes find it hilarious that he knows the lyrics to so many songs.

But it’s all the years travelling in cars and the one persistently good memory of his mother. The two of them used to sing along between news bulletins - anything from Elton John to My Chemical Romance - it was the only time they ever felt like family and not like they were thrown together by bad luck and circumstance. 

As the night grows long, he sticks to Andrew - or rather Andrew to him, some how always in his orbit and always reassuring when it all seems a bit much. Because Neil hadn’t expected to see his last chosen birthday - nearly didn’t - and this is all... just a little much.

At midnight they count down to his birthday like it’s New Years Eve and Nicky pouts when Andrew looks at Neil, blank as ever, and says, “101%.”

Neil, of course, just grins.

(Later Andrew pulls Neil down for a kiss by thumb and forefinger, demanding and tender all at once.)

The final party winds down around 2am. By three it’s just the Foxes. They are all flopped together, much like that night after Baltimore - curling around each other on makeshift beds and blankets, reassured that they’re all there, all breathing, all safe and home.

Neil starts the night tucked into Andrew’s arms, his forehead resting against Andrew’s clavicle, arms curled over broad shoulders and fingers paused where they had been stroking back and forth along Andrew’s throat. He sleeps, feeling heavy and secure.

At some point they must have rolled over though because Neil wakes with his arms looped around Andrew's middle, face smushed against his shoulder blades and Andrew's fingers laced between his own. Andrew's awake, he knows that as soon as he opens his eyes. He mutters a small apology but Andrew shakes his head as they pull apart.

Somehow, this was okay today. It makes Neil wonder if they'll have more good mornings, more and more of them. Is it bad that he's greedy for more of this?

It’s his actual birthday now - and it’s as if the Foxes have a mutual agreement that today is for Andrew and Neil. They’re gone quickly come morning, with warm smiles and hair ruffles and a promise that night practice is off unless he wanted it, gifts left for him on his desk. Neil stares at the presents and for the first time feels completely overwhelmed. His heart squeezes tight and he’s aware that he’s not breathing but can’t quite get himself to start again. Andrew’s hand on his neck brings him back.

“So many issues,” Andrew says.

Neil tries to shake it off, tipping his head back so he’s looking up at Andrew, whose fingers have scrubbed up into red curls.

“So what did you get me?”

Andrew quirks an eyebrow. He doesn’t deny getting Neil something. He likes giving Neil stuff, even if Neil doesn’t get why.

“Open them and find out.”

Neil does so - finding new dark jeans from Allison, a woollen jumper with a fox from Renee, Matt’s given him an official Boyd shirt from his newly signed pro team plus an assortment of new running accessories, Dan has gifted a framed photo of the Foxes. Nicky, Katelyn and Aaron pooled for a scattering of decent hotels and BnBs all along the route that Andrew and Neil have planned for their next road trip.

The note says:

> _Dear Neil, Happy Birthday. We know you like your shitty motels but please spare our worried hearts and stay somewhere safe this time._
> 
> PS. A _aron says I need to say that I wrote this card and he doesn’t worry about you at all. ~~In fact if you —~~_
> 
> PPS. _Nicky wouldn’t write what I want but happy birthday asshole. Don’t get my brother sick staying in shitholes._

Wymack and Abby have sent a card with some iTunes vouchers. Neil frowns in question and Andrew glares as if the card offends him. Neil’s down to three gifts.

One comes from Stuart - a selection of British sweets and chocolate that Neil hands to Andrew.

"Generous of him," Andrew says. Neil hears the sweet wrappers rustling.

One is from Kevin - a distinctive pair of orange and black trainers from Nike.

“Fucking burn them,” Andrew says.

“But they’re perfect,” replies Neil. “Look, he’s added a paw.”

And then it’s Andrew’s gift. He’s put everything in a shoe box rather than wrapping stuff up and Neil’s known since the start this had to be from him because of the studious lack of effort.

He takes off the lid.

The first thing he pulls out is a small box with a tape inside - it’s weird though because the tape is connected to a cable. Some kind of adaptor? 

Next comes a set of headphones - sleek black and designed for running.

And then finally he pulls out a box for an iPod - 30GB, click wheel, 4th gen.

“Andrew...” he starts to say it’s too much, too generous, too expensive.

Andrew takes the box, opens it. Pulls out the device and powers it on. There are three playlists already.

1) Your terrible taste

2) roadtrip

3) pipe dream

“You made me a mixtape too.” Neil feels raw.

He scrolls through the lists - _terrible taste_ is full of songs Neil hums when he studies - _roadtrip_ is every rogue song Neil sung along to in the Maserati - _pipe dream_ is all Andrew, full of the angry guitars and fissured voices.

Neil reads the titles of songs: _Hate (I really don’t like you), Famous Last Words, MakeDamnSure, You’re Not Alone, Saviour, Monster, Scars, Thnks fr th Mmrs, Bring me to Life, Dark Blue, I Really Wish I Hated You._

Neil knows them all from the CDs Andrew plays. He can hear the lyrics in his head. He can almost see Andrew driving in his periphery, hands sure and confident on the wheel.

“You can sing along to some decent music now,” says Andrew.

Neil wants to turn into Andrew, wants to pull him close and hold on and breathe in the scent of his skin.

Instead he leans back. Andrew’s there to hold him up, one strong arm curving round his waist.

“I’m not a hallucination,” he mumbles.

There’s a rumble in Andrew’a chest. _Agreement? Amusement?_

Neil can’t look because he knows if he does, he’ll probably start something and they haven’t even showered yet.

Still he says, “Yes or no?”

And Andrew’s whispered _yes_ ghosts over his ear, over his jaw.

Andrew will take Neil apart, hands confident like they are on a wheel, kisses raw like the music he blasts as they drive, attention thoughtful and vicious all at once. "Happy Birthday junkie," he'll say as they sprawl together later, muscles relaxed, bodies sweaty and sated.

Neil will pick up Andrew's hand, kiss his palm and the backs of his knuckles and curl himself into the bend of Andrew's arm.

He'll think: _this is the best birthday I've ever had._

He'll see the smug curve of Andrew's mouth and think: _thank you, you're amazing._

**THE END**


	50. The Ultramarathon AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil has been training for the Wadi Rum Ultramarathon for almost a year. It's a charity race, raising money for families escaping domestic violence. But injury means Andrew is the one who has to do most of the hard work. 
> 
> Pretty much just a fluffy story in which Andrew Minyard pushes Neil Josten through a desert in a wheelchair and that's it. That's the fic.

Neil has been training for the Wadi Rum Ultramarathon for almost a year. It's a charity race, raising money for families escaping domestic violence.

He's excited, proud of his progress, a little nervous about the five day, 250 mile trek he's about to undertake.

He's also feeling a petty victory. The Moriyamas were forced to approve this decision after a story broke in the media about Neil donating 80% of his money to charity.

Fans were gushing about his generosity. Reporters going nuts trying to track down details.

Doing the ultra gets the press off his back and theirs - plus it gives Neil an excuse to run, run, run his little rabbit heart out. Andrew watched it all with consternation and amusement. Running that distance makes him sneer.

 _Getting one over on Ichirou?_ Yeah, he's there for that.

But then Neil's typical bad luck catches up to him.

It's three days before the race. Andrew and Neil are in Amman - they've spent the day ambling through downtown, past storefronts sparkling with jewellery and shops festooned with embroidered gowns. Kevin would love this. The city is a rambling collection of remnants - Roman, Byzantine and Umayyad. Around each corner is a memory, a glimpse through time and space to a world that no longer exists. As they walk their fingers brush.

Tomorrow they go to base camp - Neil will be siphoned off alongside the other competitors and Andrew will watch him vanish into a sky almost as blue as Neil's eyes.

Andrew doesn't know why this feels so different to the years they spent apart. Why it feels wrong to let Neil go. Maybe because he's used to Neil being there every day and every night, the two of them orbiting like comets on their ellipsis, stroking closer then slipping apart.

He tells himself it's fine. Mentally kicking himself as he does.

Andrew should listen to his gut though.

Because that night before they can retire to their hotel in Jabal Luwaibdeh, Neil complains about an ache in his back. It's not unusual - they're older now. Aches and pains are commonplace.

Waking up unable to walk for pain is not.

Neil is terrified. Of course he is. He doesn't know what's wrong him.

Andrew is furious. He has not put up with a year of the idiot running stupid hours and hypoxic training sessions just for things to go wrong now.

They see a doctor. Neil is told he cannot - must not - run.

It's nothing serious - they say - a pulled muscle in his hip but he won't be able to do more than hobble for the next week or so.

They recommend rest and physio.

But the race is in two days. Neil has to report in this afternoon.

Well what's an asshole boyfriend to do?

Andrew has a plan.

Neil is going to fucking hate it.

Neil does fucking hate it.

"You're not pushing me 250 miles in a pimped out wheelchair, Andrew."

Andrew raises an eyebrow. He's already figured out how to make the modifications. He's pretty sure he can get them done by that evening if Neil can stop threatening to pull out.

_"There's elevation, Andrew. 2544 kilometres of elevation."_

_"The first day is 46 miles, Andrew, and that's the shortest day."_

_"I really don't think those wheels are going to work on sand, ffs."_

_"There are going to be campfires. BBQs. Socialising. You hate all these things."_

But Andrew's going to do this. For his stupid junkie boyfriend and his own goddamn sanity and because spiting the Moriyamas is one of the delights that he'll never ever grow tired of.

There's some fussing by the race organisers. But how can they say no to Andrew Minyard, really? He's fit, healthy, able to stare down a camel. He's trained with Neil on endurance and elevation (okay he was doing weights whilst Neil was running but they don't know that.

And think of the publicity? Two international athletes. Two Olympic gold medallists. Their first ever wheelchair racer. And if they fail, well --

"Not going to happen," Andrew says. His eyes are the colour of the desert sand.

They believe him.

***

The day before race day, Neil is in his new chair and Andrew's finalising his kit and they've tested the wheels as best they can but they're packing spares of as much as they can.

Andrew is going to be pushing a helluva lot of weight.

Neil is horrified and impressed.

***

Race day.

Andrew wears a black tank top, black shorts, his black arm bands.

Neil knows the latter will come off at some point once they're away from prying eyes.

He's annoyed Andrew is going to be behind him so much. He'd be amazing to watch - those muscles, that skin.

Neil can just about limp around at a snail's pace but they start him in the chair - Andrew wants to use the cooler mornings to get as far as possible.

When it's hotter, they'll see how Neil can walk.

They're going to go slow and steady. That's the only way they'll do this.

Day one is as much a slog as they imagined - it's miles and miles of ragged terrain, hills and sand and red rubbly stone.

The inclines are absolutely fucking brutal. The heat attacks them by 10am. The sun is painfully bright. The views are unreal - the panoramas, the vistas, the glint of sweat on Andrew's shoulders, the way Neil's nose has turned pink.

At some point, Neil starts telling Andrew stories - nonsense really - but the silence is too much and Neil needs to not feel useless.

The first leg takes just under five hours but it feels like far more. There are people behind them when they finish - people who won't get in until nearly sunset.

Andrew flops onto the sand, presses his forehead to Neil's knees. "How many days?"

But he knows perfectly well there are four more to go.

That evening, Neil massages Andrew's hands, rolling the kinks out from between his thumbs, rubbing aloe vera over the blisters already forming on his palms.

Andrew watches dispassionately, eyes following Neil's fingers until he's had enough. He slides their hands together.

They're meant to share a bevouac with four others but Andrew set them apart already. He tolerated them at dinner - the teenagers on their gap years, the sad-eyed twenty-somethings, the scruffy grey men and their a mid-life crises. Like hell is he sleeping next to them too.

So he and Neil are set up just beyond the tent borders, their sleeping bags zipped together to make a double. They're able to see the stars like this. The endless carpet of stars.

"Did you know some call the Milky Way, linnunrata?" Neil says, voice hushed. "The way of birds."

"Hm?" Andrew is a mumble away from sleep.

Neil's voice is smooth and soft across his ear. "There was once a princess who fell in love with a star. But when it spurned her, she wept and her tears caught in the lace of her wedding veil... Her tears became the Milky Way, transferred to heaven to guide birds on their migration."

Andrew's breath is warm against Neil's shoulder, even and familiar and already the tell-tale rhythm of sleep.

Neil stays awake, tracing the patterns of stars onto Andrew's skin with one finger, gentle and soothing until finally his eyes drift closed.

***

Day two.

Further. Higher. Hotter.

They manage to pack and be out of the campsite before dawn but the first part of the trek is all uphill.

Neil does what he can to hobble and limp, using the chair as a crutch whilst Andrew pushes. It's too slow though.

Half way up the towering dune, Andrew shoves Neil into the seat and tells him to, "Buckle up buttercup," before bursting into a jog.

It's one of those moments where Neil cannot help but laugh - surprised and delighted and shocked and holy fuck Andrew is strong.

They make it to the top, they admire the view for a moment. And then Andrew shoots Neil a wicked grin, one that's entirely reserved for moments between the two of them. He shuffles around, presses a sweaty kiss to Neil's mouth, then plops himself into Neil's lap and pushes off-

They _steam_ down the mountain, plumes of dust bursting behind them like a million tiny detonations.

Neil clings onto Andrew, caught between a laugh and a shriek. There's a ferocity in Andrew's gaze, clear attention. The chair is their toboggan, leaning into the curves of the sand.

It's absurd. They're probably going to die. Neil holds on tighter and lets Andrew work his wonders. They drift to a halt half way across the next flat - impossibly alive, hearts jumping so hard Neil is sure he can feel Andrew's tattoo through his back into Neil's chest.

"There are benefits to you being useless after all," Andrew says.

But there's a flicker of a smile about his mouth, a smugness that's so fucking Andrew that Neil reaches up and Andrew leans down and they kiss and they kiss and they kiss - and -

"We need to keep going."

That night, they watch as comets chase each other across the skies.

Tomorrow is the longest day. Seventy miles and the highest elevation of the whole trip. So they lie together and breathe and Neil presses his mouth to Andrew's shoulder, to his chin, to his temple.

"You're amazing," Neil says.

"You're an idiot," replies Andrew.

And they drift off as another meteor burns out above them, a light so bright and fierce that it feels like it could have been them.

***

Day Three.

A 4am race start.

Head lamps on.

Glowsticks on their bags.

Neil holding onto a torch to guide them through til sunrise.

It is the longest day. It is the hottest day. Their throats are parched as soon as they drink. Their skin is sore no matter how much sun blocker they use. Neil is glad they cracked the hardest slope before sunrise, because navigating downwards is hard enough.

They pant and wheeze. Their water runs low. Neil walks when he can but the slope is rocky and irregular and his hip spasms, sending shooting pains up his spine. They move in fits and starts. Andrew's legs cramp. His hands are blistered.

_But they're going to finish. They're going to finish. They're going to finish._

They're beyond finding beauty in the dramatically shaped rocks that draped the landscape, or the deep red valleys of sandstone jebels. They're past the point of wanting anything but to be done.

Neil - of course - trained for this.

He's packed salt tablets to take every 10 km and electrolytes too - they top up their two bottles at every checkpoint.

It's not enough. Andrew hurts. He hurts in places he didn't know could hurt. And Andrew thought he was a connoisseur of discomfort.

They have to stop. Neil does his best to work out the knots, to knead out the pain. It's not really enough. They are both staggering by the time they're on the finally five miles. Neil stands and shuffles, pushing the chair whilst Andrew drags himself the final miles.

The sun is setting. They are the last ones into camp that night.

Neil takes the opportunity to help Andrew stretch. It's been a horrible day and he knows Andrew hates feeling sore and vulnerable around the others, but this is a good distraction. He's leaning into Andrew's space. He's between Andrew's legs. He can see the fire in Andrew's eyes, the gold glint of want.

They eat their sad rehydrated ration packs around the campfire with everyone else.

They listen to the stories of how people came to be there.

Divorce. Loss. Challenge. A desire to achieve. A need for purpose.

Andrew's eyes slide to Neil.

Neil has always been a runner. He's always found solace in the solitariness. It was something he could do without his mother. It was something that kept him alive. And then it was something that made him stand out on a court.

Neil's gaze finds his, daring and bright.

 _And what about you?_ His eyes seem to taunt. _What about you, Andrew?_

And Andrew's answer is so simple. It's the answer every major question boils down to for him: _Neil. It's always you._

_***_

Day four is weirdly the easiest day. It's a shorter run again and they're back on usual times - middle of the pack, sweaty and gasping by the time they're done but still in one piece. Who knew a desert could have so many variations? 

***

Day five feels strange - it's nearly over.

Andrew can't quite believe it's the last day.

They set off and the desert feels surreal and overwhelming and grand again. It's not just rocks and sand and pain.

Andrew pushes the chair.

Neil goads him and pushes him and raises an eyebrow, "That all you got?"

Andrew shoves harder and pushes faster. It doesn't matter that Neil is literally just sitting there. He's laid down a dare and Andrew has to respond.

Fortunately, it's a flatter route today - a Martian landscape, futuristic and horrifying.

They have to detour round a film crew - some poor sod in a spacesuit - which adds on a couple miles, but they're making good pace.

Andrew can't believe it when they see the finish line in sight. 

The thing about deserts is they lie to you - the distances are always different to what your brain believes. The horizon shimmers and reality warps. There's a rift between time and place. 

Andrew has a thought that Neil is like that desert - a thousand landscapes on his skin, uncanny and beautiful and deceptive.

The last few miles are agony. The finish line warbles in front of their eyes. Neil is sure it's so close. Andrew is sure it's so far. They're not sure how far is left until they're almost on top of the flags.

The final few metres are glorious.

Andrew pushes Neil across the line - staggers - all but falls over his own feet to drag himself over as well.

There are cheers and applause from the others who have finished.

There are hovering hands from doctors who want to take a look at them both.

Andrew only has eyes for Neil.

Neil who is grinning.

Neil who has pulled himself out of the chair and is limping over to him.

Neil who is taking his face in his hand and kissing his brow, kissing his mouth.

They've been out for years, just rarely demonstrative.

Andrew wraps his arms around Neil's waist, pulls him tight even though it's too hot to be this close to another person.

He hides his grin in the shape of Neil's mouth.

 _Fuck the Moriyamas,_ he thinks. _Fuck em all._

**THE END**


	51. A Series 3  of Premises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Premises

**ONE**

Neil Josten is an accountant for Macula, an investigative journalism magazine run by former Spotlight journalist, David Wymack. It's been a good place to hide and recover after a lifetime of hell in his father's house - no one looks too closely at him here.

After all, what's an accountant to a writer other than a way to file expenses?

Except one day star reporter Kevin Day announces the return of one of their undercover writers, Andrew Minyard.

Andrew has been working on a story about the Moriyamas and their Yakuza ties and suddenly Neil's life is no longer a simple one of laying low and surviving.

Because Andrew Minyard recognises Neil Josten.

He knows Neil has the information that could end the Moriyamas once and for all.

And in the process they may even be able to exorcise their ghosts.

**TWO**

Ever since he was a child, Neil has had dreams a blond haired boy.

He usually appears when Neil needs help - mostly with warnings to run, leave, to make sure to duck.

Sometimes, he sees him just sitting next to him though, a defender, protector.

Andrew has been taking care of Neil since he was born, the only assignment he refuses to pass on.

Only now it looks like danger is closer than ever - and it might be time for drastic measures.

Where Neil is on the run and Andrew is his guardian angel who has to come to earth.

**THREE**

It is 1596, London.

Neil’s dreams seem to all be coming true as he joins the Lord Chamberlains Men and readies to play the part of a life time: Puck.

Too bad there’s a conniving Riko in the wings, trying to close the theatres for immortality and plague.

And who is this mysterious young Lord Minyard who keeps turning up to rehearsals, accompanying the player for Oberon, Kevin Day?

Why does he keep watching Neil like he’s a threat?

The course of true love never did run smooth.

**FOUR**

Neil and Andrew are two strangers with identical phones. Which they swap by accident on a flight.

Turns out they live on opposite sides of the country, so they're going to be hard to swap back.

But that doesn't stop them from texting each other - a lot.

Problem 1: Neil is an elusive businessman who's meant to be keeping a low profile during his father's trial.

Problem 2: Andrew is meant to be getting married (though he's increasingly wondering if it's to the wrong man).

What are our favourite disaster children gonna do?


	52. The Parent Trap AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew and Aaron are the twins in the parent trap, only instead of trying to get their parents back together, they plan to murder them.
> 
> They enlist Neil, reputedly the son of an infamous crime lord, to get the deed done.

Andrew and Aaron meet at summer camp.

They hate each other.

They're forced to bond over their ramshackled cabin on the corner of the camp.

They discover each other's scars and issues.

They make a pact and swap places.

This is when Andrew meets Neil, whilst pretending to be Aaron.

Neil is hyper observant - a curse of being the son of a Hatford and a Wesninski - but he likes this new and improved "Aaron" a lot.

In fact, he's fairly certain he's not Aaron at all but he plays along. Right up until Andrew starts asking about top tips for murder.

"Hire me," Neil says. "I'll see what I can do."

So they hire him.

The cheapest assassin-for-hire ever because they're kids and think £50 is totally legit money.

Neil gives Andrew lessons on knives. Helps Aaron understand poisons. Teaches them both about decomp and disposal.

Aaron and Andrew talk a lot - and it all seems to be going to plan until Aaron tells Andrew that apparently someone claiming to be Andrew's brother from an old foster family is turning up.

 _Drake_.

Andrew's not having that. No way.

So a road trip with Neil happens.

And Neil's lessons prove his worth when they lure Drake into an alley - Andrew is able to fight well enough to cut off his airways until he's unconscious.

Aaron is able to shoot Drake up so he looks like another dead junkie in a dying city.

Neil watches, proud and grinning.

**Now for the parents.**

Time for a cruise ship reunion in which Tilda and the sperm donor come face to face for the first time in fifteen years.

Romantic dinners are laid out.

Tight expressions are exchanged. Aaron and Andrew play the part of angels.

But the food is laced. The night is young. They've got recordings of arguments from their two homes and they play them LOUDLY so that everyone on the ship can hear it coming from their room.

Later that night Tilda is "thrown" overboard by her ex.

The ex "blacks out".

And the next day sperm donor is arrested.

He's got a myriad of drugs in his system and high blood alcohol.

It's not quite as satisfying as killing him, Andrew thinks, but there's no way the guy is getting out of prison any time soon. Not with his record.

Andrew and Aaron look to be put into the system but Neil has a better idea.

When they dock in London, he makes a call to his uncle.

All three of them join the Hatfords.

 _Farewell, America. A new life begins_.

The end.


	53. (never let them take) the light behind your eyes - A Soulmate AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil is eleven and his contact lenses are bothering him again.
> 
> There's an itch in his left eye and he knows what's coming.
> 
> He tries not to rub it, knowing his mom will lash out - doesn't matter that they're in France, or that they're alone. She hates his eyes.
> 
> No. She hates what they stand for. Hates the risk, the danger, that at some point, in some place, Neil met his soulmate. And that now - someone, somewhere - can see through Neil's eye.

**(never let them take) the light behind your eyes**

I

Neil is eleven and his contact lenses are bothering him again.

There's an itch in his left eye and he knows what's coming.

He tries not to rub it, knowing his mom will lash out - doesn't matter that they're in France, or that they're alone. She hates his eyes.

No. She hates what they stand for. Hates the risk, the danger, that at some point, in some place, Neil met his soulmate. And that now - someone, somewhere - can see through Neil's eye.

(Neil think he knows who it is - the stranger, his soulmate - though he can't be sure. He remembers glacier lakes and eyes like wheat.) 

She never knew if she had one. Her left eye was taken young, replaced with a bionic.

It was a tradition amongst the London gangs, she told him once. Your soul belongs to the family, your heart beats for them, your body bleeds for them.

Still, she'd never taken Neil's. Never even threatened to take it - despite all the problems it caused. He had a memory of his father looming over him once, hot spoon in one hand and a knife in the other, tip pressed against Neil's cheek. For some reason, Mary stopped him. 

Neil thinks perhaps she hated her family, just a little bit, for denying her the chance to know her match. Thinks that might be why she married Nathan.

But it's too much to think too hard... his eyes itch so much. He squeezes them shut. In a too-hot car on a too-hot summer's day, he leans his forehead against the window, using the press against his skin as a distraction. The vision will come soon and he needs to be ready to fend it off. They don't have time for distractions.

**II**

The visions are always the same - dark rooms and dark happenings, fingers snarling around a pillow, bruises painted onto skin.

At first Neil tried to help - tried to take the pain - but his mother beat him for the bruises, shaking him as if that could cure his stupidity.

So now he tries to send comfort, rubbing his thumb over his wrists, knuckles, the soft skin of his forearms. He hopes his soulmate can feel that he's there, that he's sorry, that he wishes he could do more.

But it's like there's a door behind his eye, and he can feel it when the lock slams shut. He sometimes imagines himself sitting on one side, leaning against the frame, waiting for it to open again - on a time where neither of them are suffering, neither of them in pain.

The door never opens though. Not until it's too late.

**III**

The first time Neil feels his soul mate as anything more than a presence behind his eye, is as he's lying in a ditch, trying not to die.

He tries to raise his head. Can't.

And he feels a question in his skull, a panicked urgency that's not his own.

Neil's mouth quirks and he can taste metal. Who knew it took throwing himself out of a moving car to catch his soulmate's attention?

His shoulder is shredded, his brain thick with concussion.

He can feel heat in his hip - he knows it's blood without looking.

He might die.

 _Would that be so bad?_ Neil wonders to the clouds. _No more running. No more soul mate_.

"You'd be free of me," he tries to say. It's thick and slurred.

Anger pulses in his head, he can feel his left eye glaring. It's giving him double vision.

Or maybe that's the concussion.

Neil forces himself to roll. He needs to move. He flops onto his stomach. He swears he can almost hear a voice urging him onwards, feel a furious shoving in his skull. Hands on the ground, he pushes upwards, finds his knees. He's shaky. Blood loss warring with adrenalin.

Peering over the lip of the ditch, there's no sign of tail lights or the car he leapt from. Maybe they hadn't noticed the trunk pop open, the boy crashing out. He takes a shaky breath. He doesn't know where to go or which way he came from. The road is empty. But his vision is blurry and the land keeps tilting.

He's about to crawl out onto the tarmac when he feels a painful thump against his ribs, sharp as an elbow.

He jerks back and sinks back into the ditch.

As he falls he hears an engine. There's a car coming, lights out, crawling pace, searching.

His heart is a rabbit.

But he doesn't scramble, he knows better than to move too fast. He backs away from the road, tucks himself into a hedgerow. The car slides by without stopping.

Neil hides for the rest of the night. He slips in and out of awareness.

He knows from the ache of his left eye the next morning, that his soulmate stayed awake, keeping watch just in case.

When he reaches for the mental door though, it's closed.

**IV**

Neil is fifteen and he is shaking. He's in juvie - or his soulmate is in juvie - and he's unarmed against these bigger, stronger, crueller boys.

They need a weapon. Neil knows how to make a weapon. He would teach his soulmate if only they'd listen.

He stares into the mirror - it is grime crusted, rusted by bad weather. He pulls out his lenses and blinks.

His right eye is blue as his father's.

His left eye is the lightest green, almost gold.

"Fucking watch me," he says to the mirror. "I can show you. I can help."

He waits and waits.

There's no second awareness behind his eye.

They're not listening.

He tries again.

Again.

Nothing.

He takes a breath, throws his fist against the wall and feels a knuckle pop. Instantly, his head flares up with the familiar feeling of his other half.

"Fucking asshole," Neil mutters, cradling his hand to his chest. "Why is pain the only thing that gets your attention?"

Neil glowers into the mirror - his face is obscured by the muck, the blond die looking a little green in the light, his mismatched eyes bright and angry.

He turns his attention to the toothbrush in his other hand.

"This is how you make a shiv," he says.

His left eye rolls.

"Yeah yeah fuck you too. Do you want a weapon or not?"

He spends a half hour too long in the bathroom. His mother is furious when he comes back. His skin will wear her bruises for days.

But it's worth it when he feels curling satisfaction from behind the door. His soulmate is a little safer now.

**V**

A car smoulders on a black sand beach. Neil's eyes are hot and itching from the smoke and the smell of burning metal, burning flesh.

He's sixteen and entirely on his own now. Just him, his demons and a dufflebag full of contacts that are as likely to be foe as friend.

 _And me,_ whispers his soulmate. They're not real words, just a feeling but Neil can feel the heavy sensation of a hand upon his neck, the scrub of fingers in the back of his hair.

Neil is angry and scared. He wants to wrench away. Finds he can't.

He wishes the touch was real. He's not sure he can handle being held when really it's all in his head.

In the last year they've become... not close exactly... but they do what they can through the bond. Neil can feel it growing stronger day by day.

Neither are good at comfort - giving or accepting it - but they understand the desire for security, the appreciation of protection.

Neil trusts the stranger who's eye he carries. That doesn't mean he's less alone on this beach with his mother's corpse vanishing to ashes.

He doesn't cry but it's close.

He doesn't want to sleep but he can't help it.

Through that first grim night, his soulmate plays the role of watcher once again. And the second. And the third.

Neil sleepwalks through California. He drinks water from gas station taps, eats out of bins. He's not sure what to do anymore. He doesn't realise it, but the door behind his eye never closes as a week and then a month pass by.

His soulmate is walking with him.

**VI**

It's exhaustion that catches up with Neil's soulmate in the end.

He gets in a fight outside a nightclub. His fist keeps pulling back, again and again and again. Even when his knuckles are broken and the skin of his hand is red with four people's blood, he doesn't stop.

Neil is horrified because he knows it's his fault. His soulmate protects people. He knows when to stop. He would have stopped if not for Neil and his problems.

The medication the court decides to force upon them is cruel and relentless. It scours through them both whenever the bond is open. Like quicksilver, it burns.

His soulmate tries to shut the door. Neil tries to hold it open.

He'll do anything to help at this point. He'll take whatever he can.

His soul mate slams the door shut.

It feels final.

**VII**

Neil's breath won't catch the first time he meets Andrew Minyard.

You could blame the racquet that he just took to the stomach, but it's really the burn behind his left eye as he sees the room in double vision.

The door is wide open for the first time in months.

Andrew looks amused, like this might be the funniest thing that ever happened to him. His left eye is the colour of winter.

"Oh coach," Andrew says with a wide and terrible grin on his face. "Looks like you've found another monster."

Neil stays crouched, holding his ribs.

The memories come back, fast and fierce and full of colour. He remembers nights spent rubbing circles on his wrists, the hours spent hiding at the roadside, the endless weeks of sleeping with one eye open in juvie and in Millport.

And he remembers a day long long ago in Bishop, California. It had been summer. He and his mom, accompanied by Lola and Romero, had been sent away for the week whilst The Butcher sorted some 'business' in Virginia. It was the only week of Neil's life that he remembered being happy - because there, by the glacier lake, he'd met a little boy with hair like summer sunshine and eyes like a wheat field - green and gold and bright. There had been other children - but Neil liked this one the most. _Andrew_. He could see them both now, recall how they'd spent a weekend together, left alone to roam and play.

How had he forgotten those few shining days where he'd been a child and not a Wesninski?

Neil blinks.

Andrew has moved, holding the racquet but also offering his hand. His head is cocked. His smile manic.

"I hate when you cower," Andrew says. "I know you have a spine."

Beneath Neil's lies, their eyes are a matching set.

Andrew knows every truth Neil ever tried to hide.

For a second, Neil thinks of his mother's fear - her hatred of his eyes. He almost hesitates.

But then he pushes at the door behind their eye and it opens.

Neil takes Andrew's hand.

*

_The end._


	54. Running the River AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Neil is a Hatford and Andrew is a mysterious musical stranger who lives in a fancy house overlooking the river path that Neil uses to when he's running home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW // vague mentions of mafia violence but nothing descriptive.

**I**

Every evening after work, Neil runs the eight miles home along the Thames.

It’s a busy route, he can’t go full out, but he enjoys staring up at the buildings and imagining the lives lived above his head.

There’s one window in particular that he notices every time.

It belongs to one of the old wharf buildings - newly renovated so the corner overhanging the river is exposed glass. On the second floor there’s a piano. On the third there’s a balcony. On the fourth, Neil cranes his neck and sees walls and walls of books.

Every so often he glimpses the man who lives there - blond, short, broad-shouldered and grim-faced.

Sometimes he’ll hear music trickling from behind the glass.

Sometimes he’ll see a shadow passing along the bookcases.

Rarely he’ll see the man on the balcony, cigarette between his fingers, examining the world outside his windows. He doesn’t see Neil watching back, wondering who this stranger is, imagining a thousand lives for this creative, lonely man behind the glass.

**II**

Neil works for the Hatfords - they run a slightly (ok, very) crooked outfit along the old docklands. And the job has hazards.

Like Neil being stabbed in the leg or kicked in the ribs or stamped on or concussed. Even limping, he prefers to walk home. His uncle would be livid.

But Neil needs his river routine the same way he needs to spend hours each night talking himself down. There are things that keep him feeling human and this is one of them.

Of course this is when the stranger appears in one of those rare moods on the balcony, smoking, watching, examining.

And this time his attention locks on to Neil. 

It shouldn’t feel so shocking - Neil would be a hypocrite for getting annoyed - but he’s injured and feels painfully vulnerable as his gaze and the stranger’s lock for the first time.

There’s a beat, another.

The stranger drops his cigarette and Neil has the urge to pick it up. He resists.

The stranger’s mouth quirks just visibly, before he vanished back inside.

Trembling, Neil hobbles over the St Saviours Dock footbridge. His neck prickles as he puts the windows behind him - but he doesn’t look back.

**III**

After that, there’s days where they watch each other and days where they try to ignore each other and days where Neil still hears music or sees shadows.

He doesn’t know what it is, but he finds those days the most soul-crushing.

Over time, Neil reads into the music more and more. It’s always beautiful. It’s always anguished.

And he reads into the shadows. How they pace and pace and pace.

**IV**

Working late one summer evening, Neil is listening to the radio with Stuart in a stuffy car with stuffy thoughts filling his head, when a song comes on that’s like a cool wind over his skin. His arms prickle like the skin of a pond in the rain.

“Wow what a track from Monster!” The radio enthuses. “Quite the departure...”

But Neil knows that song.

He heard it being written months ago.

Borrowing Stuart’s phone, he googles: Monster.

Blinks.

Monster is a familiar face: _Kevin Day, frontman._

Monster is a stranger’s name: _Andrew Minyard, songwriter._

That night and the next and the next, he’ll lie in the dark and listen to that song.

The lyrics curl in his chest, roots growing through his rib cage. They tell a story: of bruises and bridges and longing. Of watching and wondering and hope.

The song is Neil. He can feel it. He feels seen and doesn’t hate it. He feels known.

And yet it also feels wrong - knowing Andrew’s name, knowing he’s not just a stranger anymore.

It feels unfair.

Because Neil isn’t just blue eyes looking upwards at London. He isn’t just a stranger who got himself into trouble and can’t get himself free of it. He’s a Hatford and a soldier and he’s had his fingerprints erased from more than one homicide.

A pretty boy with a musician’s heart can’t erase that Neil has a past - one that will never let him have a future. It can’t stop him from being dangerous. He turns off the song. He vows to never run the river path again.

**V**

A week goes by and another.

The radio is on again.

The stereo trembles with a bass note so dark it rumbled in Neil’s chest. This is grim and deadly, the kind of song that cuts and twists. It’s unhealthy. It’s cruel. It’s threatening. Neil knows who it’s by immediately.

**VI**

It’s nearly August and artists around the world are competing for the sound of the summer.

For Neil there’s only one album worth listening to - and it’s by Monster.

Every song is the stick of a knife, the caress of a hand, the question of belonging, the pitfalls of hope.

It feels like every song is for him. It feels like every song is a confession.

**VII**

On a Friday so hot that Neil can’t think straight, he heads to the river.

He promises himself that not going near Andrew and his house. He just needs to be by the water.

He just needs to clear his head of Hatford horrors and songs that make him feel too much.

He sucks in cool air as he makes it to the bankside. His legs want to collapse.

Last night was a bad one. Today there was still blood beneath his nails.

He would never get used to this. He doesn't want to get used to this. 

He doesn’t know how long he lies there, sprawled over the steps that lead down to the water, watching the clouds, mind empty and drifting. He’s felt his phone off more than once but he doesn’t care. He lets dusk fall over him, waits until it dissipates into dark.

He breathes.

He breathes until there’s an acrid smoke in the air, sharp and familiar.

He tips his head back and sees a pair of boots a little way above him, follows them up to strong legs and a tapered waist and broad shoulders and Andrew.

“You’re as dramatic in real life then,” Andrew says. “Do you realise how annoying you are?”

Neil’s mouth is dry. He’s also incredibly uncomfortable. He pushes himself upright, joints stiff where he’s been lying for too long.

“Andrew,” he says the name and it sounds like a prayer.

Andrew raises a dark eyebrow, “Figured it out, hm. Your name?”

“Neil,” Neil says and feels like an idiot under Andrew’s scrutiny. Here he was acting a teenaged emo kid, not a well-trained killer.

“You should run on home, Neil.” Andrew doesn’t look at him as he lights another cigarette, he cups his hand and his face flares up in high definition. He was just as striking as in the few photos he’d seen online. “Don’t want you getting caught in the tide.”

Neil glances back at the river and shrugs. “Or I could stay.”

He looks to Andrew, find that Andrew is already looking to him.

“Or you could stay.”

**VIII**

They don’t speak, don’t move until the river is nearly at Neil’s feet. Then they brush themselves down and start to walk. They pass the docks, the empty Southbank, the lit-up bridges and the spires of Westminster. They walk in the hush of a city at night, quiet together.

There’s a moment where their knuckles brush.

There’s a moment where their fingers skim hips and shoulders.

There’s a moment where Andrew rests his hand on the back of Neil’s neck and where Neil sighs like he’s being released.

Andrew takes Neil’s number. He messages right there in the dark, his white-blond hair glinting in the lamp light.

“Call me,” Andrew says after he’s walked Neil home.

Neil doesn’t know how this will work or what “this” even is.

But he smiles and nods and says, “Yes.”

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, feels, hit me! I live for your comments xx


	55. AU in which Andrew can see how people will die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew has always been able to see how the people around him are going to die. 
> 
> Sometimes he's worked to change that - killing Tilda before her time, stopping Aaron from overdosing, catching those men before they caved in his cousin's skull. 
> 
> And then Neil happens.

Andrew has always been able to see how the people around him are going to die.

Sometimes he's worked to change that - killing Tilda before her time, stopping Aaron from overdosing, catching those men before they caved in his cousin's skull.

And then Neil happens.

Andrew's never met someone whose manner of death changes with such regularity.

Tuesday: a motel room and a knife across the throat. Thursday: a car at the bottom of a river. Saturday: Andrew sees Neil throw himself under a train trying to escape his pursuers.

In all of them, his death is cruel and fear-filled. Neil's heart thunders and his skin bleeds and yet...

There are brief flashes where Andrew sees an elderly man: scarred, white-haired, carrying a tray with two cups of tea through a house filled by photos. There's another man waiting for him, already tucked into bed, reading a book. Neil slips in alongside him, shimmies cold feet against warm legs, smiles when his companion grumble. They drink their tea together, Neil plucks the book from the other man's hands, reading aloud until they fall asleep with the lights on. Neil won't wake again. He passes peacefully, quietly, leaving the other man behind for the last time.

And Andrew knows that the other man is himself. That this could be their future.

If only he can stop any and all of these other horrific deaths from occurring.

So he'll sit on rooftops and threaten Neil into staying. He'll smoke cigarettes and swap truths.

He'll grimace when Neil offers him _anything_ for this game against the Bearcats. _Anything._

But Andrew's choice leaves the future flickering - will Neil fall asleep next to him for sixty plus years or will he die a teenager - this is the moment Andrew has to stop being the rabbit. So he chooses to shut down goal. And Neil says _thank you_ , says he's _amazing_. And for just a moment their future is so clear and so bright and so possible.

But then there's a riot.

And Neil is gone.

And could the future be wrong? Could he have always been wrong?

Was there never any chance to save Neil Josten? Just dreams and hopes and the glimpses of impossibilities?

He wants to fight the future. He wants to fight for it and against it and he wishes this curse wasn't his to bear. What had it given him other than a brother who hates him, a cousin who fears him, and this pipe dream that he briefly, fleetingly, thought could be real? _What's the point in knowing how things will end when he can't make a difference_?

Except... something has changed. Kevin's future has been a flickering thing for years, but not anymore. Andrew's hands are around his lying throat but Kevin's death is now a jewel-bright thing far, far into the future. Riko, nowhere to be seen. 

And when Andrew looks around at the Foxes, their futures are the same: impossibly solid, like their choices are falling into place, their futures written into stars. Andrew can't dare to hope though, not when he's seen Neil die a thousand different ways, over and over again.

There is a fire under Andrew's skin, it licks along his bones and finds a home between his ribs. It is fury poured over his promises, gasoline to burn up the dreams he cannot trust.

When they're told that Neil has been found, he doesn't let the fire go out. When they're in Baltimore, he stokes the flames until they're a wall between him and everyone else. (The only person brave enough to reach through is Wymack).

And when Neil is before him, a wreckage of a human wrapped in gauze, he can't stop burning. Not until he's looking into Neil's eyes and sees the future crystallised. One he knows neither of them ever thought they could have. It is solid and beautiful and true.

They'll face the end eventually. They'll die as all things must die.

"You aren't going anywhere," he'll say.

And he knows it's a truth as deep as sunset and Abram and death.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts, feels, hit me!
> 
> And remember: if you have a prompt I am GAME. 
> 
> Also here is a playlist to accompany your reading: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5tuK01lF1VR9cbf7CFKEJa?si=42CppvCzRUyNL_nI65wCWg


End file.
